Waltz With A Fallen Star
by that almond girl
Summary: Petra Ral, a struggling dancer managing a struggling school, has hit a low. Levi Ackerman, vocalist and guitarist for emerging band No-Name, finds himself in in a situation he never wanted to be in in the first place. What starts as an exciting opportunity for her and an unlucky predicament for him turns into something neither of them could've ever expected. Rivetra AU.
1. Week 0

_a/n: hey. coming back with a new story. :) __before I start, i would like to preface this by saying i am not a dancer, or musician. i am, however, someone with access to research, namely an Internet connection. i apologise if any dance facts or music things are wrong. I would also like to say that when researching for this, dancing with the stars is not consistent with their tv show format and that was very frustrating so i suppose this is going to be my own version of the show? to put it that way. _

_I don't own the rights to the characters used in this story, aside from my OCS, or anything associated with Dancing With The Stars. _

_hope you enjoy the story! _

* * *

_Week 0_

Now, Petra is not one to swear.

But Facebook can go _fuck itself_.

She'd delete the app it wasn't the only way to keep up with her extended family who barely know how to make calls on a mobile. But maybe it's worth not keeping up with Aunt Margaret's recent spring-clean up in return for not feeling like shit every time a _certain someone_ pops up in her feed. Not to mention it's already been an awful few weeks; she's gotten confirmation failure emails from every audition she's attended over the past few months, piled up in her inbox at once like the universe decided now was the _perfect_ time to let her know.

At 8:30 am, the first thing she does not need to see is her ex-boyfriend and the girl he cheated on her with commenting on a disgustingly cute couples post. She frowns at her phone and exits the app. She has better things to do. It still gnaws at the edge of her mind, though, an ugly little thought among all the real things she should be worrying about. So she blasts angry rock music on her way to work and taps out an angry dance while she waits at traffic lights. Her ears hurt, but she feels better. Bonus: no one can tell the difference between her screams and the music.

Then, at 11:47 am on her break, it decides to remind her that it is the one-year anniversary of some of her photos. Which include said boyfriend. From around the same time period he began to cheat on her. So she grits her teeth, blocks them both, deletes the post, and goes on with her day. It wouldn't do to dwell over stupid little things in the past. Besides, it wouldn't do to serve customers looking so grumpy. It doesn't stop her from drawing subtle frowny-faces into their coffees, though. By the time her shift lets out, she feels considerably better. It's sunny, she's meeting up with her friends who she hasn't seen in ages, and her boss lets her take a muffin for free when she finished.

At 2:09 pm, as she waits for Nanaba, Nifa and Rico at their usual cafe, against her better judgement and maybe because she just _loves _to hurt herself, she scrolls through her feed to pass time. The first thing she sees is an article shared by a mutual, who is '_so so SO proud of my man right here.' _

Yeah, seeing her awful ex absolutely prosper at his dream when he bashed her for following hers hits hard.

It hits even harder because hers didn't work out.

It's good that Nanaba strolls through the cafe doors at that moment because Petra was about to throw her phone out the window. She catches the devastated expression on her face and slides into the booth quickly, plucking Petra's phone out of her hand. Scanning the article, she clicks her tongue distastefully. "This is terrible journalism. It reads so poorly. Oh dear, it's not even edited properly. Look, the writer didn't even check their sources; he didn't even grow up in Denver. So you can't really believe anything in this."

"Thanks." Petra chuckles weakly. She reaches for her phone, but Nanaba holds it out of her reach, her deft fingers swiping past the article and pressing the _see less of this_ option before handing it back to her. She fixes Petra an encouraging smile. "Chin up. When it rains, it pours."

"Ah. Hope it rains men, then." Petra says, and Nanaba hums the song cheerfully. When Petra keeps her focus on the table, Nanaba nudges her with her foot. "Hey. You're never usually this upset about _him_. You alright?"

She shrugs. "I will be. Just...I really knew what the article meant because I _memorised_ all those stupid football terms to talk to him."

"_That's_ what's on your mind, Petra?"

"No! Well, not really. It's not important. Obviously." She rests her head in her hands, dejected. All her emotions from the past few weeks threaten to rise up and force itself out into the open, but she pushes them down. That's for late night sleepovers, crying over ice cream and soppy romances and failed dreams. "_He's_ all I've been seeing all day. Him and his girlfriend and his stupid football and his stupid success while I'm here working full time and running my little school of _four_ students. It just rubs it in, you know?"

"You know you're better than him, Pet. He's an asshole."

"I know he is. I just can't believe I tried so damn hard. For him. For everything. And Noah always told me that it wouldn't work out. It wasn't long term. He never believed in me. I didn't even know if he meant our relationship or my career. If he could see me now, he would laugh at me. Say he made the right choice. And to see him doing so well...I don't want him to be _right_, Nanaba."

"So work harder." Rico says suddenly, cutting Nanaba off. She'd arrived without either of them noticing. She pushes into the booth, elbowing Nanaba and nodding at Petra.

Truthfully, Petra never thought she would get along well with Rico Brzenka. When they met, they clashed; Petra wholeheartedly disagreed with Rico's composed, blunt disposition. Rico, in turn, had considered Petra far too emotional for her own good. But eventually they found a middle ground, and now Petra considers her one of her closest friends. She's the most honest person Petra's ever met, and that's what she values most about her. Especially right now.

"It's been months, Petra. You've always known he was a piece of shit. So? What now? Does seeing him be successful suddenly turn on that drive? Did you not value your own career enough until he comes back and prove that he was always right?"

"Rico," Nanaba hisses.

"I don't think you're over him." Rico says quietly. She tips her chin up to meet Petra's defiant gaze. "No, that's not true. I don't think you want to be embarrassed. Why would you care so much about it? To be affected so much when he's no longer part of your life? There's something you want to get out of being so mad at him."

She can't find any words to reply. She's right, as much as Petra will never admit it.

"You've trained hard in so many dance styles. You've won competitions _with _those dance styles. You have done something with your life. Consider what you've had as a break. Now take it back because _you want to_." Rico says. She drags Petra's coffee mug over and sips it, dumping in a sachet of sugar. "Seeing you upset is like kicking a puppy, you know." She adds.

Ah, Rico. She'll never admit it, but that's her way of saying _I care. _

A wry smile creeps across Petra's face. Before long, she's laughing. It's the first time she's felt this refreshed in weeks.

Nanaba whoops. Rico grins from behind Petra's cup. "That's our girl." She says it so quietly, Petra strains to hear her. She reaches across the table and wraps her arms around Rico and Nanaba's necks. "Thank you." She whispers. Rico scowls against her cheek. "Yeah, yeah. Back up now, Ral."

She squeezes them once before letting go, lowering herself down onto her chair. Nanaba's phone vibrates, and she turns to the door. "Look who's finally here!" Nanaba crows as Nifa pushes her way through the crowded cafe, her handmade satchel bouncing against her hip. Nifa sticks her tongue out at her, dropping her stuff down and sliding in next to Petra. "Class let out late." She waves her hand in way of apology, swiping Rico's/Petra's cup and draining it. After a scuffle, it's decided Nifa will pay because she was the last one to arrive. Nanaba contemplates ordering the most expensive drink just to annoy her. Nifa kicks her so hard under the table she yelps, blowing out Rico's ear.

Petra settles back against the chair, content with her best friends.

Nifa pulls her workbook out from her bag, pushing the coffee mugs aside and spreading it on the table. Different patches of fabric are pinned to the page around an amazing design of a summer dress. Petra vouches for the forest green, Rico decides on the grey, (no surprise, it's as cold and clinical as she is) and Nanaba argues firmly for the sky blue. Nifa rolls her eyes at all of them and decides that she'll get an informed opinion on _her_ favourite. Rico links them to her market research survey that she needs feedback for, asking (_instructing_) them to fill it out. It's full of fancy business terms and graphs and charts that Petra can't even begin to understand but she fills it out the best she can anway. Nanaba shows them pictures of the venue for her upcoming exhibition, pointing to where she's going to hang the different photos and paintings and shows them little mock-ups in her notebook.

Petra shows them a rough video of a little routine she's been working on recently. It's unpolished and sloppy but it's the first dance she's choreographed for herself in ages and she's proud of it. With a little more work, it should be ready to...to...

She frowns. Ready for what? There's no upcoming competitions. No upcoming showcases. There's nothing on the horizon for her career right now. There hasn't been any opportunities for a while now, since she's taken whatever respect she had as a dancer and smashed it.

She shakes her head, expelling the thoughts. She'll remedy it. She'll make her _own_ opportunities.

"Earth to Petra." Nifa clicks her fingers in front of her face. "You zoned out. You alright?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll be fine."

Three pairs of eyes stare at her quizzically. "I asked you what you're planning on doing now, Petra." Rico says. "A while ago."

Petra pokes her tongue out at her. "The school. That's what my focus is on right now."

The girls exchange looks among themselves. Finally, Rico's the one to speak, pushing her glasses up her nose. "What about _after _the school?"

There's another unspoken question under there; _what happens after it goes down? _

But Petra won't let that happen. She won't let her school, her mother's pride and joy, go down.

"I'll pull it back on its feet." Petra says firmly. "You know I will. In fact," She checks her phone time. "I have a lesson soon. You know Holly always pulls up early."

"Ah, right. The little rascals." Nifa slides out of the chair to let her out. Grabbing her bag, Petra waves them goodbye.

"We got you, Pet!" Nanaba calls as she barrels through the cafe door. "Always!"

She thanks whatever entity up there that she ended up with such amazing friends.

* * *

The faded letters of CRC DANCE welcome Petra as she pulls into the empty parking lot, as familiar to her as the back of her hand. Underneath the sign, there used to be smaller, curled script saying _Cara Ral-Conner Dance, _but it had long been worn away by rain and disrepair.

She slides her key into the lock and jiggles it open- that needs to be repaired too- and steps into the reception, breathing in the smell of lacquered wood and resin and hairspray. If she strains her ears she can almost hear the laughter, the moving feet of a whole gaggle of little girls, her mother's calm voice ringing over the music. It's been a long time since the studio was filled with that many students. They all seemed to leave with her mother.

The laughter is still there though, occasionally and in small doses, but it still brightens her day. The many elegant dancers on the wall seem to wink at her as she heads towards the main studio. There used to be two others, with multiple lessons going on at once, but as the school slowly slid downhill with less and less students to accommodate them, they grew into storerooms for years worth of costumes and props. And a few old pieces of furniture and boxes of junk Petra didn't need when she moved into her new apartment.

She sets her bag down by the door, plugging her phone into the speaker and setting it to her dance playlist. Her students and their parents should be here soon for their jazz class. While she waits, she dusts down the mirrors and scrubs the bar until it shines. Maybe it's her imagination, but the whole place seems to brighten.

"Miss Petra!" Little Holly's voice carries from the reception to the studio. Petra grins to herself as Holly sprints inside, her mother following closely behind. She throws herself onto Petra's legs, wrapping her arms around her waist.

"Hello, little fairy!" Petra laughs. She detaches herself to hug Holly's mother, Allison.

Allison whispers in her ear. "How are you doing, dear?"

Allison Stienfield had been a long-time parent helper to CRC Dance, long before her mother passed. Petra remembers taking classes with Holly's older sister and helping teach her brother. After her mother passed, Allison still kept bringing Holly to lessons, supporting and trusting in Petra; it was for Petra's sake as much as it was for Holly's. She's been a constant in Petra's life since she can remember, the one little normal part that is always there for her to lean on, and she is one of the people Petra is most thankful for in her life.

Always looking out for her. Petra smiles and tells her she's doing alright to ease her worries. Holly kicks off her trainors and pull on her jazz shoes, hanging off the bar excitedly. "When are we starting, Miss Petra?"

"Soon, Holly. The other girls should be coming now. Why don't you start with some of the bar exercises?"

"Okay!" She swings herself around onto the right side while Allison insists that Petra catch her up with her life.

The reception door creaks open again and the laughter of a few other little girls and their mothers spills into the studio. Seeing their bright smiles, pinned hair and shiny shoes used to fill Petra with so much energy, but she feels drained. Uninspired. Whatever excited mood her friends had put her in, it's gone now, replaced by a heavy lead ball that drags her enthusiasm to the dust.

She tries hard to not let it show. She keeps her voice light, her movements free, and tries hard to run them through different exercises they haven't tried before. _Work hard. Work hard for what you want. _

These girls deserve the best she can give, but her best is lackluster, subpar, ordinary.

Where has the enthusiasm and passion gone?

She feels so awful about the quality of the lesson that she refuses payment when she's done. She'll survive this week. Their protests fall on deaf ears as she all but shoves them out the door, unable to stand the pity in their eyes. Allison and Holly follow out last. Allison pats Holly's head and murmurs for her to wait in the car for a few minutes. She waits until she sees Holly climb inside the car to speak.

"Petra," Allison starts, and Petra inwardly cringes at the pity in her tone. "Sweetheart. I wanted to talk to you about the school."

She doesn't reply. She has nothing to say.

"I know it's been hard for you. You grew up here. This is your home," She pauses delicately. "And you've been trying so hard to keep it on its feet."

_Not hard enough_, Petra thinks bitterly, _if today's lesson is anything to go by. _

"Petra. I don't think this school is what _you_ want to do with your life. I know you. I know when you're excited to do something. That spirit? It's not in your teaching."

"That's...temporary. It's just a setback. I'll be the same soon, Allison-"

"You haven't been the same for years. Even before Cara passed." Sighing, she reaches out and grabs Petra by the shoulders. "I think you need to start thinking about closing the school down."

The words pierce her through her heart like hot knives. In the back of her mind, she always knew it was the most sensible option. She could sell the studio for a good price. After her mother died, the lease was transferred to Petra and her father. Her father would be disappointed, but he'd understand. And Petra...the money she could make from selling it would be enough to get herself onto her feet. She could afford to take a university course. Go to college. She could safely stow it away in the bank for her first proper house or an investment. A good fallback plan.

An image in her mind. An old memory. Her mom, ushering in students into their living room. She'd cleared out the space by shoving all the furniture into the garage. She'd advertised by printing out posters at the library and tacking them up over town. She'd played the music out of their broken little CD player. After the first few months, she'd saved enough to hire a church hall, once a week.

She'd sweated and cried for what she had now. She'd been so ecstatic to finally be able to afford a run-down, empty store building. Petra spent hours painting with her parents. Scrubbing mirrors until they shone. Polishing floors, stitching costumes. Dancing every day and night. Her mom, laughing, crying, praising her when she won her first competition.

This dusty studio was her mom's proudest achievement. If she could see it now, she would weep.

Petra had already disappointed her memory when she ruined her dancing career. She will not let herself ruin this for her too.

"No." Petra says firmly. "Allison, you know as well as I do that this was her dream. I'm not going to let it fail by not bringing my best. I'll bring it back."

"If it's not what you want to do-"

"It is."

As she says the words, something in her pulls back. Running a dance school seemed so much easier when she was younger. Now she knows it's much more than choreographing dances and teaching classes and applying stage makeup. It's countless hours spent over account ledgers. Negotiating prices. Organizing costume hire for dozens of students for recitals. Calling in assessors for exams. Hiring different teachers. The list goes on and on. Her mom made it so much simpler. That all costs money she doesn't have.

She wants to dance. She wants to dance and choreograph, and choreographing for little girl's recitals doesn't invigorate her like it used to. But that's not an option for her anymore; she always knew a career like that wouldn't be long term, so she'll settle for the next best thing.

"It is." She repeats, trying to make herself believe it. "I'll save up everything I can to invest in this school again. I'll make it proud. It'll take me a while, but I know I can. I'll make this a school that you'll be proud to bring Holly too."

"Oh, sweetheart." Allison's face crumples. She folds her arms around Petra, pulling her in for a hug. "I know you can. I'm so proud of who you've become."

As she pulls back, there's tears in her eyes. "Petra," She starts, and Petra knows that voice.

"We're moving out of the city. Grant got a new promotion. Holly and I won't be able to come to lessons anymore."

"I'm happy for you!" Petra says. She really is, but there are tears in her eyes. Allison wipes them away.

"I'm sorry, dear."

"No, no! Don't be. It's- it's good! Congratulations!"

It's a tearful goodbye. Petra drags Holly out of the car to hug her, her arms so tight she's worried that Holly can't breathe. She hugs them over and over again, whispering so many thanks to Allison for all she's done over the years and giving Holly little dance tips for when she starts lessons in her new home. She stands and waves in the car park long after their car has driven away, and sits in her own for even longer, her forehead pressed against the wheel.

Eventually, she finds it in herself to pull out and get home. Like the studio, Allison was a constant in her life. She tries hard not to think about the studio disappearing too.

* * *

The next morning, she just wants to stay in bed and flop around her apartment all day, but she has a full shift at work so she pulls herself up with a sigh. Her feet drag more than usual, her hair needs to be washed, and she hasn't opened her bedroom curtains in weeks.

God. She needs to get herself together.

She makes sure to tidy everything up as best she can, leaving the dishes to soak and gathering up all the old take-out boxes. She'll cook her own dinner tonight, she decides. It's small, but it's a start.

Per her daily routine, she checks her email, messages and texts. Checking her email is always slightly sour, but it has to be done. Rico always shoots over whatever assignment she's been working on for feedback.

Her laptop takes a minute to load, and then her inbox lights up the page. There's a new email at the top, from an unfamiliar sender. It takes her a second to register the subject; DANCING WITH THE STARS INTEREST.

Her heart stills slightly. _Don't get ahead of yourself. It could be anything. _Hesitantly, she opens it.

_Dear Miss Petra Ral, _

_My name is Celeste Fisher. I am one of the executive producers for this year's season of Dancing With The Stars. _

_We have been looking for suitable dance partners for this year's celebrity cast. Our dance partners are award-winning, accomplished ballroom dancers who can be relied on to craft eye-catching routines to be televised. After careful consideration and countless shortlists, we would love to invite you to be a dance partner for this year's season. _

_Please note that this job requires great commitment, availability and reliability. _

_If you would like to accept, I would love to meet you in person. If you are not interested, please let me know as soon as possible. _

_I look forward to hear your reply. _

_Kind regards, _

_Celeste Fisher _

_Goldgate Studios_

She blinks. Once. Twice. Her eyes scans over the email again, searching for the part where it says in big letters _GOT YOU! _ There's none. Quickly, before she passes out from shock, she puts through the email and name through her search bar. Sure enough, Celeste Fisher pops up on a pretty impressive list of television credentials, including the past few seasons of _Dancing With The Stars. _

No. Way.

She inhales deeply through her nose, and out through her mouth.

And screams.

* * *

Hanji Zoe sits in a very plush, luxurious waiting room. The couches probably cost thousands each, and should most definitely _not _be used for propping muddy shoes up, but she figures that any complaints Robert has can be countered with that they're going to make enough to buy him new ones.

Also, he's kept her waiting for a while. She deserves to rest her tired feet.

"Hanji, how are you? Good, good. That's good to hear." Robert Dune bursts in, his eyes on the sheaf of papers in his hands, a folder tucked under his arm. Hanji snorts. Robert Dune, long time manager of No-Name, has no time for useless words. Always busy.

"So- oi, get your dirty feet off my couch!"

Well, unless it concerns his money.

He shoves her legs off onto the floor, grimacing at her shoes touching the pristine fluffy carpet. It's leagues better than the couch, though, so he soldiers on. Maybe to get her out of his room as soon as possible. "I called you in today because I've got a very exciting opportunity for you."

"Oh?" Hanji leans her head in her hands, staring at him curiously. "What exciting opportunity could you have for little old me? The others aren't here, so I'm assuming it's meant to be a secret. Are you giving me my own solo already?"

"God, no. What would that be, an album long bassist track? Wouldn't sell anything." He spreads the sheaf of papers on the little cherrywood coffee table. "We got an offer. You know _Dancing With The Stars_?"

"Vaguely."

"Well, get better acquainted on it. They called me up wanting to know if any of you would be interested in being a celebrity dance partner. Do you know the publicity this would get you guys? Right before your first headlining tour, too! It's _brilliant_." He puffs himself up and adjusts his expensive jacket like he personally fought for this moment. Hanji frowns, pulling out a paper. "The season dates end just before we open. And it's intense rehearsal, every day. We can't rehearse for the tour and do this at the same time."

"Sure you can! You'll just need extra coffee. You're young with lots of energy. You'll be fine."

They clearly have very different versions of _young_, Hanji thinks in all of her nearing-thirty-glory.

A thought tugs at her mind. "Do they want _me_, or a member?"

Robert frowns, rifling through the various papers and scanning over one in particular. "Just asks for a member. I thought you would be the one who would be most up to it. You think Levi would want to _dance_?" He chuckles to himself.

Another thought occurs. A slow smile spreads across Hanji's face. Robert gulps nervously at her expression as she grabs the contract where it asks for the information of the participating celebrity.

"There we go." She slams down the full contract. She scribbles one thing in the _celebrity terms and conditions _column before she hands it off to Robert.

* * *

"_Hanji, I am going to_ fucking _kill you."_

He really would have, if his hands closing around her throat was any indication. It's only Mike and Erwin holding him back that's keeping her alive right now. She leaps out of his reach and ducks behind Mike's drum kit.

Oh, even Mike's expensive, thousand dollar drum kit won't stop him from tearing her apart. He breaks free of their hands and charges straight for her. The jittery stagehands jump out of his way, and there's a strangled noise of her bass being tuned wrong and an amp tipping over. That's all background noise though. The only thing on his mind right now is the sweet, sweet feel of choking her into the floor.

"Levi!" Erwin shouts. "Calm down!"

His giant hands pull Levi back again, and he grins. "How would we play tonight if you murdered our bassist?"

"We'd turn on the backing track and make do." Levi growls. "How the _fuck_ could you sign me up for a dance show _without telling me_?"

"Don't worry, Levi!" Hanji calls out from under Mike's cymbal. "I made sure to specify that they need to get you a dance partner who's shorter than you!"

Red tinges his vision again and he lunges for her. "If you think I'll spend months dancing while we need to be rehearsing, you're even crazier than I thought!"

"Levi! Look, Robert will be here soon. You can tell him to pull you out."

Yes. Yes, he's right. His anger diminishes slightly. "That's the smartest thing you've said all morning, Erwin." He relaxes his clenched fists, and goes over to where Hanji crouches, aiming a foot at her face. "Although I'm still going to beat the shit out of you, four-eyes."

"How original." Hanji rolls out from under the kit, avoiding his kick. Mike shoves both of them out of the way, grabbing his drumsticks. "Get to work, both of you." He says gruffly. Mike hardly ever speaks unless he needs to, or unless something is pissing him off. Levi's not even sure who's getting on his nerves this time.

Erwin nods in agreement. "You want to ruin the gig, Levi?"

Levi glares at the tall keyboard player. "Count yourself lucky that I'm pissed at Hanji, or I would've knocked your lights out by now."

"Charmed."

Gritting his teeth, he slings his guitar around his neck. He'll slit all their throats while they sleep tonight. Until then, he'll focus all his rage into his music. And when Robert arrives, he'll get this shit sorted.

The four piece band meticulously tune and warm up their instruments, ready for tonight's gig. Erwin and Mike murmer to each other, and Hanji stresses poor Moblit by misplacing the cables for her bass. Levi organises his gear himself, wiping down the neck and body to his guitar so hard he might wear a hole through the instrument.

Robert finally strolls onto the stage from the wings, speaking into his cellphone. "Yes. _Yes,_ I told you, don't you listen? It's sorted and organised. Right. Alright, see ya." He jams his phone into his fancy suit pockets, beaming at them all. "Good evening, No-Name! Good to see you. Warming up, I see? Good. Make tonight a knock-out performance, you hear?"

"Robert, I don't know what bullshit Hanji's told you but you need to pull me out of that fucking dance show right now-"

"Oh." Robert blinks. "The show. It's already been finalised."

"You're kidding."

"I was just on the phone with one of the producers. The cast list is set and finalised. There's no backing out." Robert explains. It takes all of Levi's willpower not to use the extra guitar string to garrotte him.

"No." He says flatly. "There's no way I'm doing it. We have our first tour coming up for fucks sake. _That's_ what we need to be rehearsing for."

"Actually," Erwin says, coming up behind Levi and resting a hand on his shoulder. "You wrote most of the songs for the set list yourself. You know them inside and out. We've been playing those songs since we banded."

"Not the new ones." He scowls, shrugging his hand off.

"Oh, come on." Robert interjects. There's more than enough time to practice four new songs. Levi, imagine the publicity this would bring you."

_Publicity._ Levi plays music for himself, and himself only. Publicity stunts were bullshit and had no place in his music. They never did, in the first place. But that was before he could've imagined making a living out of it. As much as he hates to admit it, he no longer plays just for himself. He plays for the band. He plays for their fans. He plays music for people who need it.

He grits his teeth. Thanks to Hanji, he's got no choice. So be it.

"Fine." Levi says finally. "Fine. I'll do it. But if I'm eliminated early, that's not my fucking problem."


	2. Week 1

_a/n: sorry for the long wait! this took me a while because I was drowning in work. It ended up being way longer than i thought it would be, and editing took me ages. I'll try to get the next one up as soon as I can. reviews and feedback welcomed. __hope you enjoy!_

* * *

_Week 1_

The last time Petra danced ballroom, she was still dancing with Erd, at the International Latin Dance competition held in Melbourne, Australia. Petra had never really considered herself particularly masterful at ballroom; indeed, she was good (she had her mother to thank for that) but there were better dancers out there. To her surprise, their complicated, sensual argentine tango had impressed the judges so much that their score was high, far higher than the dozens of other professional dancers in their category.

To this day, Petra is convinced it was the feeling and love they poured into that dance which won them such a high score. It took Erd and Petra weeks to get that feeling to emerge through their dancing; he was like an annoying brother to her. To dance such a sexy, loving dance with Erd had taken far longer than just rehearsing the choreography. They'd even organised a fake-date (with consent from Natalie, of course) to try and rouse any kind of feelings that would push their dance. And all of their hard, awkward work paid off. They finished second-runner up in their age division. Compared to the other incredible dancers, that was pretty incredible.

That bronze medal has always glittered proudly on a hook on her room in the family house, reminding her of all the hard work they had put in to earn it. It worried and thrilled her at the same time. It took her and Erd weeks to conjure up an award-winning dance with the feelings to match. She had a week to create a routine that would compel the viewers enough to vote for them. Not to mention the chemistry they had to generate to really push their routines over the top. She'd known Erd for years. She was going to know her partner for a week before they performed.

After Petra excitedly emailed back with her interest for the show, Celeste had organized a proper meeting at her office. The older lady was tall, blonde, and very, very flowery. She had flowers growing out of pots and tucked into vases in every corner and tabletop. A gold rose necklace glittered against a pink flowery blouse and lavender perfume wafted around her like a halo. Her warm, charming presence calmed Petra's fluttering nerves, and she made it through the meeting without making a fool of herself.

Celeste had ran Petra through all the necessary forms; forms with her contact details, her height, weight and measurement details, all the training she's had, as well as what dance styles she had experience in, even though she would mainly be dancing ballroom. Celeste informed her on what would she was expected to do, and what signing on would mean for her, telling her that she could come back in a few days with her decision.

Petra promptly asked for the contract right then, her decision already made.

Oh, she'd made the decision a while ago. After she received the email, the next few days leading up to her meeting passed in a blur of excited phone calls and three different celebratory dinners. A blur, because she'd been hungover for most of them.

Since then, she's been in and out the studios for screen testing, costume measurements, shoe fittings, dance conditioning, and dozens of other things while the producers secured the celebrity cast list. The rush of everything had made her head spin. It took her a few days to get used to the hustle-and-bustle of what it was like to be on a TV production set, but she'd adjusted to the harsh lights and yelling managers quick enough. It reminded her of her competition days.

Celeste had called her yesterday informing her of her partner, about a few months after the initial meeting.

Which was why she was now here, in the hallway outside a very fancy dance studio near the TV studio, wringing her hands because_ damn_, she was nervous. All that preparation for this moment. The man who would decide whether they were going to fly or flop. She'd already made up her mind on that matter; she dearly hoped he would put in the same amount of work she was aiming for.

A makeup artist gives finishing touches to her face, while a whole crew of cameramen noisily thump their equipment around in the room behind her. Somewhere among them, her new dance partner is there, likely getting his face retouched and his hair combed.

Levi Ackerman, vocalist and guitarist of emerging rock band No-Name. They formed a few years back, managing themselves and working small gigs until they'd signed with Legion Record Label. Since then, they've released an EP, a few singles, a full length album, opened for another act, and were about to embark on their first headlining tour. She'd listened to a few of their more popular songs, and although she enjoyed them, ultimately rock wasn't usually something she had in her normal playlists. Well, apart from her 'angry road rage driving music' Spotify playlist.

The band consisted of Mike Zacharias, drummer; Erwin Smith, keyboardist; Hanji Zoe, bassist; and her own partner, Levi Ackerman, guitarist and lead vocalist. Upon watching different interviews, she'd picked him out as the shortest, constantly-pissed looking one.

It was hard to tell what he looked like, though, because all four of them wore bandages over their eyes. All the time. She had blinked in confusion and found fan-recorded videos of them performing; they wore them when they performed. When they gave interviews. Hell, maybe even to bed.

It was their brand. In one of their interviews, Erwin Smith explained that it was Levi's idea; when they performed at events near the individual high schools they attended, they didn't want anyone recognising them. It stuck when they started making it big; they wanted to live their own personal lives and kept out of the media spotlight if it didn't directly concern their music. She couldn't find one photo of any of them without their bandages on.

That was interesting. Absentmindedly, she'd wondered how they would dance if he always intended on keeping his face out of the media, but she'd brushed that over. They'd cross that bridge when they got to it.

Instead, she focused on Levi. He wrote most of their songs; his skill with lyrics and wordplay was pretty incredible, even if most of the words that came out of his mouth didn't reflect that. He almost never spoke, but when he did, he was blunt, bored, and unfiltered; she'd gotten more familiar with the beep of censoring than she thought she would.

Petra wondered how a position as a _celebrity dancer_ had filtered to a rock band like No-Name; even more so, how the position had reached Levi. Of all of them, he came off as the most unapproachable -not necessarily unlikable, but unattainable.

Maybe that was how he presented himself in front of cameras, and he was secretly very easy-going and polite. After all, she noticed he kept himself very put together. Compared to Hanji Zoe, who almost always had messy hair and a loose tie, draped around her neck like a scarf, his pressed shirt and neatly parted hair made him look like a businessman, not a rock star. Surely a man like that had a smidge of good manners in him?

She hoped so, or else her job would be even more difficult than she anticipated.

"Petra!" Marco, one of the assistant cameramen, ushers her to stand outside the door. Petra took a liking to the very kind young man instantly. Like her, he was new on the set, and they bonded over how out-of-depth they felt.

She smiles at him gratefully as he directed her to her spot, closing the dance studio door. Production were going to film her first meeting with Levi Ackerman, for the 'behind-the-scenes' of rehearsals, a segment that would play before their first dance. Celeste told her that they wanted to capture the pure _authenticity_ of their first meeting, so viewers would appreciate the hard work they had done to get there.

The makeup and costume team had done their best to make her look unnaturally natural; a beautiful vision of a dancer just coming out of an eight-hour practice. She'd snorted at that. No dancer would come out of an eight-hour practice with perfectly fluffed hair, or a dry unblemished face, or a long-sleeved sweater._ Definitely_ not a long-sleeved sweater.

Marco peeked through a crack in the door, and counted down on his fingers for Petra to enter. Her heart seemed to thump in time with his silent counting.

Three, two…

_One._

Breathing deeply, she pushes the door open, blinking in the harsh brightness of the lights. At the back of her mind, she marvelled at how they'd placed them so they'd be invisible to the mirrors, but then a boom mic was being nudged towards her, and she directed her attention to the man standing boredly in front of the mirrors.

Short. That's the first thing that registers. He was even shorter than he looked on camera, barely taller than her. But his arms were corded with muscle, visible through the short-sleeved shirt he wore, and relief courses through her. She'd worried that he wouldn't be able to lift her as well as someone like Erwin Smith or Mike Zacharias probably could.

He turns towards her wearily - he's wearing sunglasses, hiding his eyes - and she feels her heart skip a beat. Even with his eyes covered, she could admire the strongness of his jaw, the shine of his dark hair, the toned body.

_Get a grip. You're a grown woman, not a teenager. You've danced with dozens of good-looking partners_. Quelling her nervousness, she swallowed. This was the man she would be spending so many hours with. This was the man who, possibly without even knowing it, held her career in the palm of his hand.

"Hi! It's so good to meet you!" Petra beams, and she throws her arms around his shoulders warmly.

Petra is a hugger. Always has been. Ever since she could remember, greeting people with a hug was as natural to her as breathing. While she's always been aware that sometimes it's good to tone it down - like in job interviews, to name a prime example - she always tries to greet new people as warmly as possible. She's always loved meeting new people, new soon-to-be friends. Even without the pressure of the cameras rolling, she still would've greeted him like this. They're going to be spending so much time getting to know each other, so it's only fitting they start learning right away.

Levi Ackerman stiffens under her touch immediately. He stands as if he has a pole strapped to his back, recoiling as much as he can, before his hands reach up and rip her arms from his shoulders, holding her away like she burns.

She waits a second for him to say something, feeling the heat of embarrassment rise up into her face, and clenches her hand (that's angled away from the camera) into a tight fist.

He does not. He makes no move to touch her, or hug her back or do anything that indicates, _hey, nice to meet you_ or _hey, thanks for teaching me to dance_ or even _hey I'm sorry I come off as an asshole but I'm just super stressed but I'm actually real pleased to_ _meet you._ Instead, his body language indicates, in its purest, most obvious form, _fuck off._

She feels the heavy silence stretch around them, wrap her up like it wants to suffocate her.

Okay. _Okay_. That was..._awkward_, to say the least. So maybe he just doesn't like to hug people. That's not unheard of. It's normal. She can make it right. She _will_ make it right. "I've heard so much about you!"

"Uh. Yeah." His voice is low; he sounds even deeper than when he sings. A pure rock voice, her father would say. Briefly, she waits for him to say something. Again, he gives her nothing. If she could see his eyes, she would imagine they would be flitting everywhere, desperate to bolt.

Her vision of a gentleman cracks before her eyes. Swallowing down her frustration, she feels the movement of every camera on her. Neither of them say anything for a moment; Petra is grasping in her mind for any thing she can say, desperately recalling every episode she'd watched from past seasons on what the dancer said when they met. "I can't wait to work with you. I've got so many ideas for what our routines will look like." She laughs nervously.

"Good on you."

Her shaky laughter dies down in her throat. Frustration begins to claw at her happiness and she clamps it down. "Good on _us_." She corrects, perhaps a bit sharper than she intended. He nods at that, exhaling through his nose.

They stand in yet another awkward silence until the head cameraman, Nicholas, calls out, "Alright. Cut, everyone." His voice is resigned, and Petra feels both disappointment and embarrassment wash over her in a tidal wave. "Look, we'd usually keep going, but I think we need a break real quick. Would both of you be alright with filming it again?" A break. They're only two minutes into filming.

"Yes." Petra says immediately. Levi sighs, so quietly only she hears it, but he shrugs. "Yeah. Whatever."

Her frustration begins to give way to anger, small and surly in the pit of her stomach. Who does he think he is? He _agreed_ to do this and he acts like she's gum on the bottom of his shoe?

The bustle of the crew around her jolts her back into reality. Levi Ackerman scowls. "Alright. Look, I never fucking wanted to do this. So let's just finish this and then we can get on with our day. And _don't_ hug me again."

Her temper flares its ugly head. A few choice replies bristle on the tip of her tongue, but in the end she grinds her teeth and tries hard not to spit, "Yes. Perfectly understood."

Marco leads her out again. There's a sympathetic look in his eyes. "It's not your fault, Petra." He says when the door closes again. "Before, when he arrived, it took the crew ten minutes to even coax a few words out of him. He's just not a very conversational person."

Obviously.

Her daydreams of them on stage, perfectly in sync, dancing smoothly through her choreography, had splintered and shattered like glass the moment he spoke to her off-camera. Earlier, Petra entertained the idea that maybe that was his image he liked to keep on camera, but from his parting words to her it was anything but. How can she dance with someone, _connect_ to someone, who's so closed off and won't even _try_ to be polite?

In less than two minutes, she watched the last hope of saving her career soar away, out of her reach like a leaf in the wind.

_Calm down, Petra. Breathe_. So, it hadn't gone as well as she hoped. She was just being overdramatic. They'd redo it, she would respect his boundaries; some people just didn't like to be touched by strangers, that was entirely fair; and it would be less awkward. It _had_ to be.

Smoothing down her hair, she enters again, grinning like she hadn't just been considering murder. She simply holds her hand out for a shake this time - this has to satisfy him, at least - but he has the audacity to eye her hand for a second too long like he wants to disinfect it before he grips it and shakes it once. His grip is cool and firm, his hand dry.

Thankfully, it's less stilted than the previous time, but she still feels the tension in the air. Her voice has lost it's cheer and she tries hard not to droop. Levi says even less, so she takes it upon herself to drag the conversation out, speaking almost to herself and hoping it looks like he's listening.

What production want is for this segment to look like they've just met to begin rehearsal, but that's not true at all. They'll meet for the first time, record a few clips, and then they'll go about the rest of their day. Then, after they filmed all the opening sequences with the rest of the cast, they'll begin rehearsal properly, a full week before the first live show. The crew will record bits and pieces of the first proper rehearsal, in the same clothes that they're wearing now, to create the illusion that there wasn't almost two weeks in between takes.

He's considerably less surly this time, probably because he doesn't have to speak, and when Will calls_ cut_, the old cameraman looks pleased with the footage he's got now. He nods at Petra, claps Levi on the back - he flinches and looks pained at this - and gestures to his camera. "We'll call each of you in half an hour or so to record the separate voice overs. Feel free to, uh, go...get something to eat. Or something." The bearded man is far more interested in his camera, that Marco is currently fiddling with, than them.

Petra looks around at the crew, packing up their gear. A wardrobe assistant runs up to Petra and Levi and insists they change out of their current outfits before they leave, then whisks them away the clothes for safekeeping. Levi looks far more comfortable in his black shirt and heavy leather jacket than the workout shirt they made him wear. He's out the door and halfway down the hallway before Petra realises, and she snaps back into reality.

"Hey! Le- Mr Ackerman." Petra calls, catching herself. 'Levi' sounds far too friendly for the meeting they've just had. He pauses for a moment, before turning around.

"Yeah? What do you need?"

"Oh, uh. Nothing. But I thought…" Thought what? She struggles for an answer to that question. But she soldiers on. "Look, we're going to be dancing together. I'm really sorry I might've overstepped boundaries. I am. I should've thought properly." She recollects herself for a moment. If this is going to work, she's going to have to take it seriously. "Can we start over? The cameras can be daunting. So," Sheepishly, she held out her hand, smiling widely. "I'm Petra Ral."

Again, he hesitates. Then he sighs and shakes her hand once. "Levi."

So maybe he's not a complete ass after all. But he leaves before she can offer to grab some lunch together.

* * *

After she's wrapped up filming, she retrieves her bag from the dressing room. Her phone goes off immediately with texts and calls from Nanaba. Nanaba's been a long time fan of No Name, and when she saw the cast list online, (Petra was sworn to secrecy by the studio) she freaked. Petra likes to think that Nanaba was lounging around her flat all day, phone in hand, itching for an update about what the stoic, secretive vocalist is like.

"Hey. Petra!" Nanaba yells into the receiver. "What happened? What's he_ like_?"

"Ah," Petra pauses for a moment, resting her head back on the headrest of the driver's seat. "Interesting."

"_Interesting_?"

"No different from the interviews."

That's the best way she can think describe Levi Ackerman. "Closed off. Blunt." She adds.

There's a crash on the other end, and Nanaba swears. "Damnit, that's the _third_ canvas today!" Rustling. And then, "Not surprised. That's what makes them so cool; they're no different on-camera than off-camera."

"Cool for _you_. It makes my job so much more difficult."

"Come on. It's just going to take some time to get used to someone so different than you." Nanaba says. "Remember when you met Rico? You two couldn't stand each other. Now you're best friends."

She did have a point there. Rico was prickly, closed off and dishearteningly honest; exactly the impression she got from Levi. Maybe it would take some time, but she could win him over like she won over Rico. _Don't give up hope because you had a setback. _

The small, unconfident voice in the back of her mind whispers that it'll definitely be different from winning over a grown man than a high school girl. Then it morphs into a cruel, malicious voice that takes the form of very judge, every audioneer, every critic she's ever had, sneering that she's going to fail before she even starts.

Positive. Positive thoughts. She'll make Levi Ackerman into the best dancer that's ever been seen on the show. She knows she can.

Nanaba asks about the other band members - she's got a soft spot for Mike Zacharias, she knows - and presses Petra about possibly getting her an autograph when there's a sudden knock on her window.

"Petra!" A familiar figure waves through the glass, his bright green eyes shining.

"Eren!"

Nanaba forgotten, she throws open the car door and jumps into his open arms, squeezing him into the tightest hug she can. "How have you been? What are you doing here?"

Eren Jaeger, a few years younger than her, was one of her very first students at CRC Dance when she started teaching. Truth to be told, Eren wasn't necessarily gifted in any way, but he worked hard enough to come out on top of quite a few big competitions. He moved away from the city for a while to study at university, and she hasn't really heard from him since. Why he's currently in the parking lot of a TV studio escapes her.

"I'm a dance partner on _Dancing With The Stars_!" Eren exclaims excitedly.

Petra almost explodes with joy. "You're kidding!" She shrieks, then reels in her volume, casting a worried look around the empty parking lot. "So did the producers contact you too?"

Eren launches into a whole story about bumping into one of the producer's assistants after a competition, who took the recording to the board. Apparently, Eren wasn't as hyped as Petra was to jump on board; it took the producers two weeks to convince him to sign on.

"I want to focus on my studies," Eren explains. Ah, right. Criminal justice had called to him as strongly as ballroom dancing had. "But I was going to be in the city anyway for a while to visit my parents. Plus," His face turns down in a grimace. "University is expensive. The weekly pay is good. So's the experience."

Petra nods in agreement. A small part of her is secretly jealous; Eren can go to university and pursue a career, and_ still_ do what he loves. But she buries that ugly envy deep inside of her. She is truly happy for her friend, a person she considers her younger brother, if she's being honest.

She's about to explain her story, the events that led up to her reclining in her car and having a mental crisis, when a car turning into the empty car park they're occupying honks angrily at them. Petra jumps, and she yanks Eren into the backseat of her car, diving into the driver's seat. Nanaba has long abandoned the call, sending Petra a few quick texts to make sure she wasn't hit by a car or kidnapped in her sudden absence. The car with the angry driver pulls into the park next to them. Catching sight of the wizened old man with the beet red face, Petra bites back a giggle, raising her hand apologetically. Eren, splayed out across the backseat, begins to laugh. Suddenly she's laughing too, full blown wheezes and coughs with someone she loves, and she feels far better about everything that's happened today.

* * *

The liveliness and the chaos of the TV set is far different to the quiet, organised setup in the dance studio. The place bustles with dozens more crew members; more cameras, more lights, more costumes. They're filming the opening sequences and promotions today. Petra sits in a small room, sectioned off as the cast dressing room, a little way off the main studio. Minnie, one of the regular makeup artists, retouches her makeup and adjusts the fall of her skirt. Next to her, another makeup artist applies Levi's; he's making his job easier because he sits as rigid as a plank and doesn't move, his eyes flitting back and forth in discomfort.

It's the first time she's seen him without his face partially covered. His eyes are a watery blue, even gray in some lights. As much as it pains her to admit it, he's not bad looking at all.

"Have you met the other contestants yet?" She asks him out of the corner of her mouth, trying not to disturb Minnie. Majority of the cast had already come through and gotten their makeup and hair done when Petra arrived for her call time. Levi showed up a few minutes later, and they were herded into the dressing room straight away.

Levi flicks his gaze to her; he is as bored and lifeless as when they first met. Perhaps it's just his resting face.

"No." He replies, leaning his head back against his chair. Frowning (then biting it back as Minnie taps her cheek impatiently with the brush) she shifts the cast list in her lap. They'll meet them all soon, but she finds herself wanting to get Levi's thoughts on them. However, any more conversation she tries to pry out of him, he clams up and says just enough for her to get the hint that he wants her to shut up. The familiar feeling of frustration she's come to associate with him builds up inside her chest, but she forces it down. It won't do to kick his chair leg. Especially while Minnie holds a hot straightening iron near his head.

"Ten minutes!" Someone yells through their make-shift dressing room. Minnie starts, cursing under her breath. "Rick, take the pins out of Petra's hair- no, the black ones! Leave the silver ones in! Toss me the hairspray."

Petra ducks in time to avoid the whizzing can. Expertly, Minnie catches it, dousing Levi's hair with it. She evaluates Petra, then sprays her too. She leaves the pair coughing in the fumes while she steps back, nodding at them approvingly.

"Beautiful!" She declares, turning them around on their chairs to the floor-length mirror. They look good, Petra thinks happily; her white costume is done over with tiny rhinestones that glitter in the light, matching Levi's crisp white shirt. They look like a proper team.

Leaning closer to the mirror, she appreciates the makeup done by the team; her skin looks flawless. Surprisingly, her eyelids are bare. No eyeshadow, or eyeliner. Not even any mascara. Confused, she turns to look at Minnie, who shrugs.

"Oh," Levi drawls. "We're wearing these." He pulls two pieces of white cloth out of his bag. Petra recognises them as the bandages No-Name are known for. Tossing one to Petra, he ties the other on expertly.

She fumbles with it for a second. "What?"

Even though his eyes are covered, she still feels the annoyance in his gaze when he turns to her. "Part of the agreement when 'I'," he makes air quotes with this, his mouth turned down in a grimace, "signed up for this shitty show was that during all shoots, I would be allowed to have my face hidden."

"All shoots?" Petra repeats. "But that means… even when we dance-"

"Yeah. What part of _all shoots_ do you not understand?"

There's no time to throttle him, because Minnie seizes her by the shoulders and shoves her out the door into the hallway, where assistants wait to herd them into the main studio. Within a minute, they're out amongst the other cast members. There's no time to process the fact that she's going to have to choreograph and dance with limited vision in front of millions of viewers.

She can still see. Of course No-Name wouldn't perform in complete blindness, but her sight is notably fuzzier and her peripheral vision is almost nonexistent. If she had eyes as bad as Rico, she wouldn't be able to see at all.

Biting back a few choice words to say to Levi (she finds she does that a lot when she's with him) she ignores him. If she sees him, it'll just ignite the fuse. Instead, she focuses on the clientele that they'll be competing against, analysing them through the fuzzy white film over her eyes.

Eren Jaeger will be partnering Mikasa Ackerman, champion pro-MMA fighter. The tall, surprisingly young woman stands next to Eren quietly, in comparison to his excited chatter. She's relaxed, slack against the wall, but Petra can see the strong muscles rippling in her arms and makes a mental note to not get on her bad side.

"Mikasa Ackerman?" Petra had asked when Eren told her the name of his partner, at a small cafe adjacent to the studio. "Would she be related to Levi Ackerman, by any chance?"

"Huh. Not sure." Eren hadn't seemed too interested in any possible family tree, gulping down his hot chocolate.

Looking at the girl now, Petra can see slight resemblance in the set of the jaw and the fall of the black hair, but other than that, there's nothing that connects Mikasa and her partner in any way. Idly, she wonders how Mikasa's strength and prowess will translate to the dance floor, but she shakes her head. If she's got Eren as a partner, there's no doubt she'll make it far.

Anka Rheinberger is another old friend to Petra, having met her long ago at a workshop. The young woman is partnering Dot Pixis, a retired football player in his fifties. Despite retiring long ago, his charismatic personality kept him in the spotlight for a long time as a presenter or host. Unfortunately, that also shed light on his alcoholism; if the tabloids were anything to go by, she suspects the bottle Anka is knocking out of his hand is something much stronger than the fizzy water they were offered.

Ymir Wilkes, professional partner to Historia Reiss. If Petra was being honest, the tall, slender young man was unfamiliar to her. She'd never seen or heard of him before, and in the dancing world at the level required of them, that was rare. There was something in his stance that reminded her of someone she might have seen before but couldn't put her finger on, so she casually asked him if he had any dancing relatives. To that, he fixed her with a frosty look, so she backed off. Historia Reiss, an actress who rose to fame portraying a princess on a fantasy TV show, reclines on a chair beside him, her golden hair piled atop her head like a crown. She's tiny compared to him; she must be easy to lift. Ymir's got an advantage for that.

Jean Kirstein. The sandy-haired dancer paired with Sasha Blouse, celebrity chef. He's extremely sharp on his feet, his movements powerful and controlled, and Petra is slightly in awe of the younger man. He sits relaxed in his chair, chatting to Marco, but he keeps shooting glares at Eren. Unaware, he talks on to Mikasa, and if it's possible Jean's glares get more pronounced.

Sasha Blouse hovers by the food table, where light snacks are kept on-hand in case anyone gets hungry. For a chef, she's not too concerned on the quality; she eats anything and everything she can get her hands on. Her bubbly and loveable personality endeared her to the public, and she appears on talk shows frequently.

Franz Kefka and his celebrity partner Hannah Diamant lounge comfortably in a corner, chatting like they're on a picnic. Franz, a very talented dancer, and Hannah, a very talented opera singer, make a strong duo. They're nice and welcoming, smiling at Petra like they've known each other for years, but they seem far more preoccupied in each other than what's happening around them. She wonders if they knew each other before and had to pretend for their filmed meeting.

Hitch Dreyse looks as kittenish and sly as ever. She hasn't changed in the years since Petra beat her at a lyrical competition when they were teenagers; her shaggy hair is still chin-length and wavy, her build still small and slim, her eyes still narrowed and catty. Once, Petra had accidentally referred to her as Bitch Dreyse when they were sixteen, and Hitch has never really forgiven her for that. But she's a clean dancer and the pair mutually respect each other for what they are. Petra knows she's got competition. Next to her, Connie Springer, host of _The Connie Springer Show_, is being coerced into a bright, loud bow-tie that matches Hitch's dress.

Bertolt Hoover towers over his partner Annie. Towers over everyone, really. His shoulders are twice as wide as Petra's, his arms are probably as long as her legs, and his wrists are the circumference of her neck. He's surprisingly graceful on the floor, although that doesn't translate to everyday life; she's watched him trip over two cables and bumped into a speaker on his way over to the wardrobe assistants.

Annie Leonhardt, a smaller-time actress than Historia Reiss. Both are blonde and tiny, but the resemblance stops there; Historia is all soft planes and edges, while Annie is as hard and sharp as the corners of the box she perches on. Petra was unsure of who she was at first; she only had a few credits to her name but was known enough to secure a position on the show.

Marlowe Freudenberg, dance partner to comedian Mina Carolina. He's passionate about his profession, and very, very good. He's adamant about rules and laws and knows the ins-and-outs of competitions like the back of his own hand. If he wasn't a dancer, Petra could see him being an exceptional court judge.

Mina Carolina was not too well-known, but she deserved to be. The woman was stepping up into the world of comedy, her routines fresh, sharp and witty. She's already made Petra laugh a few times before she even sat down.

The last pair is Armin Arlet and his admittedly, absent partner. The science web show host looks rather anxious about the whole situation, craning his neck around for any sign of his partner. Maybe it's for the best. Maybe she's broken a leg. Or two.

A familiar dancer emerges from the throng of people to chat to Armin, legs intact.

She should've known. Fate wouldn't be that kind to her.

Carley Strattman. The brunette has her wavy hair pushed off her shoulders. Her hazel eyes sparkle. She takes a seat besides Armin, and in the crowd, her eyes somehow meet Petra's.

She smiles. But it's the type of smile that puts all of Hitch's sneers and side-eyes to shame. "Oh! Miss Petra Ral. I didn't expect to see you here! I thought they only accepted professional dancers."

"They do. So what are you doing here?" Petra shoots back, and she winces inwardly. Pretty weak. But she dignified herself by not waiting for an answer, turning around and chatting to Mina instead. There's no point giving Carley Strattman the time of day, however much the petty part of her mind wants to exchange insults.

Carley Stattman has been a thorn in her side since they were old enough to compete. For years, they went back and forth with their victories against each other. Petra won the role of a chorus dancer for a musical. Carley was picked to dance in a music video. It was different than Hitch and Petra's mutual begrudging respect for each other, evolved from stupid teenage decisions. Carley and Petra had been neck and neck for years; it was personal. When CRC Dance had been overflowing with students, Carley was one of them. Then she left after a few years, taking most of the students when she started running her own classes. And then Petra fell and it only served to boost Carley's ego more, tipping the unstable scale more into her favour, and it has stayed that way for a while.

Not any longer, though. Once Petra's made Levi into a world-class dancer, Carley will never have anything to say about her abilities again.

Ten dancers. Nine weeks. Twenty-thousand dollars on the line.

That money would keep her school from going down. It'll bring it back.

"Mikasa?" Levi says. It's almost unbelievable how he can keep his voice the same tone as always, but she thinks she detects shock. "_You're_ here?"

Mikasa raises an eyebrow at him, pushing off the wall. "Hey."

"Since when were you here?"

Eren slips away from Mikasa's side as her and Levi talk. "They're cousins." Eren whispers to Petra, watching the pair bicker back and forth.

Well. That's one question answered about her brooding, mysterious partner, at least.

"All cast on set!" Will shouts, and the rest of the shoot passes in a blur of swirling skirts, twisting turns and loud laughter, both real and fake.

* * *

Exactly one week before they perform, Petra sits in the studio, ten minutes early for their rehearsal. It's the studio near set that production has hired for the season, readily available for it's dancers. The hours available for them were tight and slim; they had to be haggled over between the cast members, bidding on which studio room each of them wanted. Petra plans to take advantage of every minute they can get in this fancy, clean studio. The plan in her hands thrums with all the excitement Petra poured into it.

_1: choregraph routine_

_2: practice until stage-ready_

_3: practice with bandages on_

_4: perform_

Her overall plans for rehearsal are crude and short. In reality, she's written out a thorough plan for each day until Friday, the live premiere of the show. She's planned out warm-ups, allocated time for breaks, and even time for messing around with the choreography if Levi has any ideas. Every minute of every hour is accounted for and truthfully? She's extremely proud of the tidy list. She even stole some of Rico's proper calligraphy pens to force herself to print neatly. Each day and activity is colour-coded. There's a neat key in the corner of each page.

Yes, she's got everything planned so they can _kill it_ on Friday.

The only problem is that Levi is late.

Petra paces the floor of the empty studio. So far, he's thirteen minutes late, cutting into the allocated warm-up time. The coffee she brought him and herself sits abandoned in the corner, cooling.

She's thankful for the absence of the cameras, because live footage of her murdering him wouldn't bode well with voters.

How the hell could he be late? It's the_ first day._

Maybe he's stuck in traffic. Maybe his car broke down. Maybe something so shocking happened that he wasn't even thinking to text her to explain why he's so late and he's on his way to the ER right now-

Levi strolls through the door. Perfectly fine. Shirt free of wrinkles. Hair combed neatly. He looks like he's walked out of a cafe after the best breakfast of his life. He probably has, because he's holding a fresh cup of coffee from the cafe next to the studio.

Quietly, he sets down his things in a corner. For a moment, neither of them say anything. Petra hopes the venomous glare on her face says everything she wants to scream at him.

He raises a quizzical eyebrow at her. "Why do you look so constipated?"

Anger - white, hot anger - courses through her body and she can't rein it in this time. "Why. Are you. Late?" She spits.

"I needed to get a coffee. It's shit though." He scrutinises the styrofoam cup, as if completely unaware of the wrath of the woman less than a few feet away.

"I can _see_ that."

"Why are you asking stupid questions then?" It's the way he says it; not patronising, but like he's legitmentally confused on why she's so angry. Like he can't even_ fathom_ her reasons for being here.

Petra doesn't like confrontation. Especially confrontation where both parties are equally angry. If she can, she'll avoid it at all costs. Her temper clouds her whole mind and she doesn't trust herself not to say anything that she can't take back. She tries her hardest to keep this in mind. No matter what happens now, it won't change the fact that they'll be dancing for the next few weeks. _Suffer the fall now to climb later._

But there's_ no way_ that she will stay quiet about this...this complete disrespect-

"I'm asking because we agreed to be here by seven o'clock!"

"By seven. _We_ agreed." Levi scoffs. His eyes narrow. "No, it was my shitty manager and my disaster of a band mate that agreed. I didn't agree to _shit._ So if you want to waste more time by being pissy then go ahead. I don't give a fuck."

He never once raises his voice. It only gets lower but somehow, Petra would prefer it if he'd shouted at her.

Oh, she wants to scream. There's nothing stronger than the urge to scream and shout and storm out of the studio, far, far away from this man and his disrespect and appalling work-ethic.

Suffer the fall.

CRC Dance appears in the corner of her vision, run down and ruined. In the other corner, a bulldozer.

With a great amount of effort, she forces the anger down so it's nothing more than a pulsing, frustrating point behind her eye. She'll let him think he's won this one. And there is a valid point, somewhere in his rude words. They _are_ wasting time just by arguing.

Of course, they wouldn't even need to argue if he wasn't being a total prick in the first place. In fact, as this unpleasant situation sours in her mouth, and even though she's going to be a professional about this, she doesn't think even the most level-headed person could stand to touch and choreograph a loving routine with such an asshole.

"Here." She shoves him a list that Celeste sent her; songs that the show has acquired the rights to use for dances. It's a long list but she's gone through and listened to each song, highlighting the ones she thinks will fit well with their week one waltz. Picking the music is actually number 4 on her list of things to get through, but considering numbers 1 to 3 are out of the question (cardio warm-up, get to know each other, and trust exercises) she has to make do.

"These songs suck." He flicks over the pages, his lip curling at the song choices. Petra holds in a groan.

"Then pick the least suckiest song and we'll start." Doing her best to ignore him, she straps on her heels. "The ones highlighted are the ones that will work best for the waltz."

"Why don't you just pick the damn song then?"

"Because, _Mr Ackerman_," Suffer the fall. Suffer the fall. "Equal partnership. You pick the song and I'll do the dance. Unless you want to switch?"

His scowl deepens, but he grudgingly flips through the list. Petra hopes he chooses soon. The producers don't want any two pairs dancing to the same song; first in, first served. Ymir and Historia have already bagged her favourite song on the list.

"_The Millionaire Waltz._ Queen."

Petra jerks, unsure if she heard him correctly. "That's a rock song."

"Yeah."

"You want to dance a waltz...to a rock song?"

"Look, it has waltz in the fucking title, alright?"

Okay. A harder song than she would've liked, but the foundations are definitely there. She recalls the song, imagines it playing on a radio in her father's living room. There are some musical elements that inspired choreography in her mind already. She must be stuck in her headspace for too long because Levi throws down the list.

"Fine. Pick what you want then. I really don't care."

"No, no!" Petra jumps to her feet. "It's fine. Really, it is."

He narrows his eyes at her, as if looking for a sign that she's making fun of him. Finding nothing, he sighs and turns to the floor length mirrors.

In truth, Petra would've liked a safer song to dance on their first week, and then cranked up the difficulty as they progressed. She didn't know his abilities, what he was capable of, if he could pick up complicated steps quickly. She was as new to him as he was as new to ballroom dancing. She_ was_ tempted to pick out another song, actually. But she already had so much control over the creative process. Besides, he probably had more of an eye for music (or ear?) than she did.

"That's a good song." Petra smiles. Levi says nothing, but it's an improvement from his usual scathing comments. Connecting her phone to her speaker, she lets the music flow through the empty space, closing her eyes and picturing how their routine would start.

"Is this yours?" Levi interrupts her train of thought, pointing to the cup holder on the table.

"I brought one for you too." She says, trying to block him out to keep the tiny spark of inspiration locked in her head. "It's cold now." _It would've been warm if you were here on time_, she wants to say, but she keeps that to herself.

To her surprise, Levi takes one and tries it. Pausing, he sips again.

"Not shit." He says, so quietly Petra thinks she imagined it. So she pretends she doesn't hear at all and directs all her focus into their routine.

Ten minutes later, she finds that dancing with Levi is like dancing with a wooden plank.

No, even a wooden plank would have more feeling and stability than Levi.

First of all, he holds her like she is going to give him a disease, is going to blow up or bite him, or a disconcerting combination of all three. She barely feels his hold on her back, which is not good considering that she's meant to be relying on his arm alone to keep her from tipping onto her ass. She puts up with it for a while, expecting him just be adjusting to the proper posture; she even expected this, if his reluctance to hug her was anything to go by. Her patience only goes so far, though.

"Alright." She halts the music and their shaky steps. In her heels, she's an inch or so taller than him. Impatiently, she grabs his hand in hers and pulls his arm around her back tighter. His eyes widen slightly in surprise, and he inches away from her as much as he can. Petra's eyebrow quirks up.

"That's my job." She leans away from him, keeping their lower halves pressed together (comfortably, of course) and extending the gap between their faces. "Standard waltz posture."

"Ah."

Right. Posture sorted. What else?

The most frustrating thing about dancing with him - well, attempting to dance - is that Petra can tell that he could be a good dance partner if he tried. She can see that he's light on his feet, just from the way he stands. He has the strength to lift her over his head. He has the control for complicated quicksteps.

But he just _won't dance._

It takes her half the day to coax even the smallest sequence of choreography out him. And even then, he deliberately drags his feet or just not attempt the move at all with as much enthusiasm as a dead squirrel. By the time her allotted lunch hour rolls around, she's considering forcing them to stay to practice because they need it all the time they can get, considering the progress they've made so far. But her stomach rumbles in disagreement with that plan, so she flicks off the music with a sigh.

"Can you be back here in an hour from now?" She asks, slipping off her heels. There's a blister on her ankle; she hasn't worn them in a long time.

"Mmm."

"And by 'an hour,'" Petra spins around, blister forgotten, fixing him a firm stare. "I mean, _one hour._ One. Exactly."

"And by 'mmm,' _I_ mean 'I fucking get it Petra'." He grabs his wallet and phone from his bag and the door shuts behind him.

Petra doesn't leave. Instead, she works through the choreography until he returns.

* * *

Thankfully, the days after day one are smoother-sailing; he actually shows up on time, which is a good start. They can talk to each other without biting each other's heads off, which is even better. The only problem is that he still. Won't. Try.

He moves his legs like they're made of lead. His arms swing uselessly by his side when they're not dancing together. She hasn't put much emphasis on facials, considering that half of their faces will be obscured anyway, but the grimace in his lips is noticeable from a mile away.

Petra is awake more often than she's asleep; each night she stresses and stresses over the material, trying to make it Levi-friendly and enjoyable for the audience at the same time. When she's not with Levi or at her apartment, she's rehearsing with the rest of the cast for the big opening number, rushing back and forth from her studio to grab equipment and teach quickfire lessons, and working at her cafe. Her boss constantly reassures her that it's alright, she understands, but Petra feels so guilty they're short-handed because of her that she picks up any shift she can, even if it means she's only sleeping less than four hours each night.

Friday draws nearer. Petra gets it together for each rehearsal, but after, in her car or apartment or the safe confines of her studio, she gnaws her fingernails down to the quick and goes over the routine over and over until it's seared into her brain. If he won't dance properly, fine! She'll dance for both of them.

That creeping, nagging voice that always appears at her worst moments whispers that no, it won't be enough. She's the partner; Levi is the celebrity. They're here to watch him. She could be the best goddamn dancer in the world but it wouldn't make a difference, and that fills her with more fear and nerves than anything else. It all depends on him.

On Monday, the camera crew are back in the studio by the time Petra arrives in the morning, adjusting lights and boom mics and cameras. She's ushered back into her original clothes, that long-sleeved poor choice of a sweater that will be sweaty within the next twenty minutes, and touched up to hide the tiny stress pimples that have popped up in the last few days. Used to the procedure now, she sits in the corner on her phone, waiting for Levi. When he finally strolls through the door, she wants to grab him by the sleeve and drag him to her corner so she can plead with him to actually attempt the dance, but the makeup artist gets to him first, yanking him away to get him camera-ready. Petra quells her rising nerves.

Maybe because they're being filmed, he'll actually try the dance. She wants to believe it with every fiber of her being. She really does. But if their first, filmed meeting is anything to go by, it'll be one disaster after another.

She's right to be worried. Like usual, he stomps (not even stomps, because that would require _effort_) with the enthusiasm of a dead slug. She shrugs it off with her stage smile, perfected over many years of muck-ups. It's still on her face when she does her personal interview and asked various questions about Levi. (_H__e's a bit challenging to work with, as new people always are, but I believe that it's just a stepping stone to making the best routines we can._)

Nifa, Nanaba and Rico have coached her through every word.

Her stage smile is still plastered on her face even when Marco tells her that the camera crew have requested she remain outside for Levi's interview. As he ushers her out hurriedly, she doesn't miss how it's the camera crew themselves who have requested it, _not_ Levi.

"He's going to say stuff about me that definitely isn't PG enough for air, huh?" Petra's stage smile drops the moment the door closes behind her. Marco pats her on the shoulder sympathetically, but she doesn't miss how he avoids her eyes.

"It's just what we've done with all the other pairs. The dancer leaves the room for the celebrity interview."

"Yeah?" She appreciates Marco trying to cheer her up, and part of her wants to believe him. But that malicious voice rises above any self confidence she has, and no cheering up can erase it.

* * *

The next morning, it's not Levi that waits for her in the studio.

"Oh!" Petra blinks in surprise. For a moment, she struggles to place the tall, handsome blond man. She knows he's a member of Levi's band, but whether it's Erwin Smith or Mike Zacharious escapes her. "You must be...Erwin?"

Erwin Maybe Smith smiles, a brilliant stage smile that puts hers to shame. "Erwin Smith. It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Ral."

"Petra." She shakes his outstretched hand; his completely swallows hers. "If you're looking for Levi, I'm afraid he won't be here for another ten minutes or so."

"Thank you. Petra, would you mind if I stole your dance partner for ten minutes of your time?"

Her first instinct is to decline. That's valuable time. Friday is so close she can almost reach out and touch it. As if reading her mind, Erwin Smith pats her shoulder reassuringly. "I understand if you need to rehearse. But these ten minutes would benefit you greatly."

Now she's confused.

"If you wanted to dance so fucking badly, Hanji should've signed you up instead." Levi says. His sudden appearance makes her jump, and she whirls around to face him.

Her partner dumps his stuff in his usual corner, unimpressed as always. "I already see you enough. So you better have a good reason why you've decided to intrude on my alone time."

The smile never leaves Erwin's face. He must be used to him or utterly crazy. "Good morning, Levi. I was just asking Petra if it was alright to speak to you for ten minutes."

"Fuck off." Levi says immediately.

"I believe I was asking Petra, not you." He turns to Petra. His blue eyes seem to glint with...mischief? Glee?

She can't tell.

They really should be rehearsing. Petra glances over at Levi for his input, and he scowls at her, tapping his foot impatiently like he's waiting for her to decline. Maybe it's the irritating tapping, because he's putting more effort into that than he is dancing, maybe it's the fact that she knows, deep down, they won't get anything done, or maybe its because he looks so pissed off to have Erwin there and she wants to be spiteful for once that she finds herself nodding. "I think that would be fine."

Levi shoots her the nastiest glare he can while Erwin bundles him out the room. Perhaps it's meant to intimidate her but she's far too tired to feel anything but the heaviness in her limbs. Ten minutes. That's more than enough time for a power nap.

"Oi. Wake up."

_What the-_

There's a sudden sharp jab in her side, jolting her fully awake. Petra jumps out of her skin.

Levi towers over her spot on the floor, where she leans against the wall. Blearily, she checks her phone; it really only has been ten minutes since they were meant to start. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches sight of herself in the mirror; her hair is rumpled flat on one side and the side of her body that was against the wall aches with pins and needles. The other side aches from whatever Levi did to wake her.

"Did you... kick me?" Petra gapes, too surprised to even be offended. Levi shrugs.

"Only gently."

Gently? The new bruise forming on her waist says otherwise. She can't even tell if he's joking or not. Probably not. He probably doesn't even know what a joke is.

"Get up."

It's like whiplash. She can't even begin to comprehend anything; it's like she's still asleep, lost in a dreamworld. Because there's no way that Levi would be the one turning on the music and working through the choreography without her managing him every second. _And actually doing it well._

His feet move with the poised control it took Petra years to perfect. His posture is incredible; even with the absence of a partner, she can see the smooth tension in his shoulders and back. Each movement hits the beat perfectly. If she didn't know any better, Petra would think that she was watching a world-class dancer.

Levi watches her stare open mouthed at him in the mirror. "You look like a dead fish. Are you going to sit on your ass all day or dance?"

Scrambling to her feet, she grabs her heels and straps them on in record-quick time, barely even registering his crass remark. In fear of disturbing whatever trance he's in that's making him finally dance, she keeps silent, only murmuring directions for their feet or feedback. He's so light on his feet that she barely has to, and by the time lunch rolls around, she's actually out of breath. Before he leaves, she tells him that she thinks that they can try it with the bandages when they return, and he grunts in agreement. She waits until she can't hear his footsteps down the hall and then smothers an excited scream in her jacket, thanking the heavens for blessing her with Erwin Smith.

They rehearse well into the evening, long after the sun dips below the horizon and the twinkling skyline of Los Angeles is reflected in the mirror. Levi was adamant about keeping the windows closed to 'keep those disgusting, dirty fuckers out,' (he meant mosquitos) but Petra slides open one anyway. The cool night breeze feels wonderful against her sweaty skin.

Finally,_ finally,_ their routine came together. Of course, she definitely would have preferred to have it together a few days ago, to use the final few rehearsal days to smooth out the kinks, but all the work they've done today is far better than she could've ever imagined. For the first time, watching them dance together sparks something other than frustration and anger; it's pride and joy.

Somewhere behind her, Levi is typing out a message on his phone. Petra leaves him be, leaning her head out the window, inhaling the fresh air. The bandages hang limply around her neck like a scarf.

At this time in a few days, they'll be dancing for millions of people. The reach of the show is far bigger than any of her competition live-streams. Those reached two thousand, at best. The lowest amount of viewers on any _Dancing With The Stars_ episode was _two hundred thousand_.

There's a shove to her shoulder. Levi nudges her out of the way and sticks his head out the window. Petra huffs, but the pleasant, satisfying soreness of her muscles after a good rehearsal eases any annoyance she has with him. "What if mosquitos come?" She teases. He keeps his eyes trained on the skyline.

"Tell them to fuck off."

It's not funny but she snickers anyway. For a few minutes, they relax in comfortable silence. A question tugs at Petra's lips. It's been in the corner of her mind all day but the business and quick pace rehearsal gave her no time to ask him.

"What did Erwin say to you?" Petra blurts. She's eternally thankful for the tall man, but the curiosity has been eating her up all day. Levi doesn't turn to face her.

"Said he'd kick my ass if I didn't start moving on the floor."

"That can't be true."

He finally turns to her, one eyebrow raised. Petra squares her shoulders.

"I've been threatening to kick your ass all week and it hasn't done anything."

"Don't know if you noticed but you're a lot smaller than he is."

She throws one of her heels at him and he catches it on reflex, immediately dropping it with a grimace once his hand touches the blackened sole. He pauses for a long moment, so long that Petra wonders if he's forgotten what they were talking about or decided not to answer.

"I never wanted to do this shit in the first place. The only reason I'm here now is because of Hanji wanting to be a pain in the ass. Erwin reminded me of what we could gain from this show. The," He makes a vague gesture with his hand. "Exposure. For our tour."

"Oh." Why is she surprised? Why else would he bother if it wasn't for something he was actually passionate about?

It shouldn't matter what inspired him to dance as long as he dances to the best of his ability. It's ridiculous to even feel the sting of disappointment that he's dancing for his own reasons, not because he actually enjoys dancing with her.

_Like _you're_ not doing all this for your own reasons,_ she tells herself firmly._ Don't be a hypocrite._

Still, something doesn't sit right with her about his explanation. If she's learnt anything about him in the short time she's known him, it's that he doesn't fake anything for the camera. Then again, his band is something he's actually passionate about. Of course he would do anything for it. Like her and her school.

She wants to ask him more, but all the questions lodge in her throat and she can't bring herself to ask. Instead, she nods like she understands and reaches for her thrown heel. "Can we go through it one more time before we go?"

He sighs; he must be as tired as she is, but he wounds the bandages around his face anyway. As Petra gets to her feet, he murmurs something so quietly she almost misses it.

"I was an ass to you for the first few days. I- fuck. I'm sorry, alright?"

It's one of the strangest apologies she's ever heard; the words are stilted, halted, like he barely apologises to others and has never had the practice. It's for that reason alone that the words lighten her mood, and she smiles; a real smile, not a perfected stage smile. "You're dancing now, and that's all that matters."

* * *

She can't sleep.

After tossing and turning in her bed for what feels like hours, but has actually only been twenty minutes, she throws the covers aside and pads around her silent apartment, headphones in, blasting their music and running over the steps again and again. Every time her feet start to ache, she stretches them out and starts over again, shortening the movements to accommodate for her cramped living room. Her steps are perfect, her posture is perfect, her expressions are perfect, but doubt still gnaws at her confidence, chipping away at everything she's spent hours on.

Knotting the bandages around her eyes, she begins again, over and over and over. She should sleep- no, she _needs_ to sleep, she's only going and dancing in front of millions of people tomorrow on live television- but every time she heads back to her room that doubt creeps into her head and she's back practicing.

Why is she so nervous?

Before she can tell herself that he needs his sleep far more than she does, she's calling Levi's number. He picks up after the second ring. "If you want to rehearse now-"

"No! No, I don't." Petra reassures him."Why are you still up? You should be sleeping."

"_You_ called me." Levi points out flatly. "If you thought I would be sleeping why did you fucking call-"

Somewhere in the background on his end, there's the _ping_ of a string snapping against something. Levi curses again and turns his head away from the receiver. "Hanji, if you broke the string, I'll castrate you."

His foul mouth and extensive vocabulary is no surprise anymore to Petra, who asks, "Where are you right now?"

"Rehearsing. For band."

She blinks. "Huh?"

"The tour. I told you. After this whole shit-show is over." Levi sighs. As always, he has that disinterested tone in his voice, but his words are shorter than usual. He's tired.

_Of course_ he would be. She's pushing him through eight hours or nine hours or sometimes even _ten_ hours of training and rehearsal every day, and he scrapes through and drives to his next rehearsal stop?

It begins to dawn on her. The pressure she must've put him under. The strain. Not of just the show, but his career. What _he_ wants to do.

And she's dragged him through hell for the sake of hers. She's never once stopped to think of him.

He even told her so when they met. _Look, I never fucking wanted to do this in the first place._

Selfish. Selfish, selfish, selfish.

"Fuck," Levi sounds disturbed, panicked, from over the line. "Are you...crying?"

She's not even aware salty tears are sliding down her face until he says so.

"No." A stupid, awful attempt to cover it up if he noticed, from over a _phone call_, before she did. For a moment there's silence, and it drags on so long that Petra thinks he's hung up when there's a sharp bang of a cymbal from his end. Probably Mike the drummer.

"I- fuck. Shit. Look," Levi says suddenly. He stumbles over his words, like they're awkward and heavy in his mouth. "I was an ass to you but not because of...you as a person, but because you're with this and stuck- fucking hell, and- Hanji, _shut up!_"

That's not it. Even now he thinks it's his fault, even though he's already apologised. He thinks she's crying because of _him._ The thought fills her with shame.

"No no! It's not that." She takes a deep breath. "I was such a _bitch_ to you this week and I never once stopped to think of you, or your life, or your band or your health, you must only get two hours of sleep every night or something-"

"Oi." Levi drawls. "Stop. I gave you plenty of reasons for you to be a bitch to me. I knew what I was signing - what Hanji signed me up for. If one of us wasn't trying then we'd be up shit creek without a paddle right now."

Despite it all, Petra smiles weakly. "I guess so."

"Yeah. I'll be fine. I usually only get two hours of sleep anyway."

There's a crash on his end, so loud even Petra holds her phone away from her ears. Levi curses colourfully, stringing together a sentence that would make no sense if anyone else said it and hisses into the reciever, "These asshats would really destroy all the intrustaments if I don't fucking manage them every minute because no one here knows how to do their job properly."

Petra picks up the 'subtle' goodbye in his words. She giggles. "I won't hold you up any longer then, if it's such a disaster there."

"Disaster. That's an understatement." He mutters. "Oh. Petra. Stop practicing now. Get some sleep for tomorrow."

"How did you know I was practicing?" Petra asks, bewildered.

"I'm good at guessing." He says. "You'll be fine. There's nothing to worry about."

He hangs up, leaving her alone again in her empty apartment. Maybe for once she'll take his advice. She slides back into bed and massages her calf muscles to ease the tiredness from her bones. They'll be fine. She'll be fine. They haven't practiced all this time for nothing.

There's no way she'll mess this up. Not when she's got both their careers riding on this now.

* * *

On Friday, she wakes like always. She washes her face and showers and brushes her hair like she's heading over to a shift at work or to her studio or meeting Levi. Almost an hour passes before it really hits her like a punch to the stomach.

She shoves the familiar, nervous urge to skip breakfast out of her mind, forcing herself to eat some toast and drink some coffee. She's never fared well on an empty stomach during competition days.

The drive to the studio seems far shorter than usual. All too soon, she's punching in the code for the locked stage door, signing in her name. Not many people are here this early; only Anka, Carley, Eren and Mikasa have signed in. Ah, not surprising. She's far earlier than the official cast call time.

Lexa, the head choreographer, wants to run the opening number on the studio floor, blocking it out and getting the spacing right. It's not Petra's first time seeing the big stage assembled; her and Levi have practiced on it before, but the sheer _glamour_ of it all still makes her head spin.

Unlike most of the stages she's performed on, it's not elevated for the audience to see better; the higher tier viewers look down on the stage, and the lower tier seats are lined up around the floor, almost touching it. That was something they'd have to be careful of; if they got their spacing wrong, they could whack them. It wouldn't happen though. Probably. The stage was huge.

Only one part is raised. The end half presses right up against the wall, a long strip of empty space three steps higher than the main floor. On that, two more curving staircases climb higher into the ceiling. They don't go anywhere and look pretty ridiculous in the ordinary studio light, but when they're illuminated with the bright neon lights under the dark stage glow, lining each side of them, it looks incredible. Between them, the logo is usually displayed, and the wall is done up with magnificent light projections. It's enough to make her eyes blurry. A part of her is glad her vision is obscured slightly; she'll never admit it to Levi, but the bandages cover the harshness of the lights.

Anka and Eren are sprawled across the floor. Mikasa sits daintily on her knees. Carley is absent, somewhere in the depths of the studio, and Petra's glad. She glances around at the camera crew already setting up their gear on the other side of the stage. Will is not among them, so she guesses that's why no one's kicked them out yet.

"Hey Petra!" Eren brightens as he spots her approaching. Anka lifts her head and grins. Mikasa nods.

"Hey!" She drops down besides them. They're so relaxed that it eases her nerves slightly. "Ready for tonight?"

"You know it!" Eren whoops. He punches Mikasa in the shoulder good-naturedly, and from the way Mikasa suddenly tenses, Petra thinks for a moment that she might knock Eren's lights out. Not for the first time, she wonders who will be lifting who in their partnership.

"God, I hope we're ready." Anka groans. "Pixis dances better than you would think for an old guy, but all his ideas involve us taking shots before we start."

Petra laughs, a little too loudly, because half of the camera crew glare at her for disturbing the peace. "He sounds fun."

Making a noise of agreement, Anka stretches her legs and rolls her ankles. "I guess. Weird though. He told me to only call him by his last name because he hates his first name."

"That's not weird."

"It's weird when he tells you that sober and gets confused when you call him that drunk." Anka shrugs. "I almost started calling him 'bastard' because he got annoyed about every proper name he had."

Even Mikasa chuckles a little at that. Her similarity with her cousin still stuns Petra.

Their calm moment of peace is shattered when Ymir and Connie burst into the studio, arguing about something small. Ymir whacks Connie so hard he yelps loudly enough to get them all kicked out.

With nowhere else to go, they crowd back into one of the green rooms, relaxing before Lexa arrives and drills them with last minute criticism. A few more cast members eventually join them, friends and strangers alike, and Petra enjoys the strange peace that has settled over them all. Perhaps it's the nerves that charge the air and electrify the atmosphere, but Petra finds herself getting along with everyone. She even manages to ignore Carley enough to pretend she isn't there.

Levi hasn't arrived yet, though, and even though he's been on his best behavior recently, she can't help but worry. Everytime someone new arrives, she prays it's him, ignoring the little hissing thoughts that say he's just not shown because he changed his mind.

When the door opens once more, the room is already cluttered with many of the cast members. Petra looks up hopefully. To her surprise, it's another member of No-Name that's standing in the doorway.

"Hello!" She charges into the room. She's surprisingly taller than she looks in interviews. Her hair tied up in a messy ponytail and her glasses are close to sliding off her face - there's no mistake, it's Hanji, the bassist of No-Name. A shorter man follows closely behind her; his anxious, exasperated expression is far from Hanji's gleeful grin.

She can't even comprehend what's happening when Hanji bounds forward and starts shaking her arm so hard she thinks Hanji is going to yank it from her socket. "Petra! It's amazing to finally meet you!"

"Ah, likewise!"

It really is nice to meet Hanji - she's very different to how Levi describes her, usually as a 'pain in the ass' and 'four eyed shithead.' "If you're trying to find Levi, he's not here yet-"

"I'm not here for _Levi_!" She laughs like Petra's said something hilarious. "I'm here to introduce-"

"The fuck are _you_ doing here?"

Levi stands in the doorway. Petra breathes out, then winces at the pronounced dark circles under his eyes. Hanji whoops with joy. "Levi!"

He flinches as she draws nearer, nimbly stepping away from her and joining Petra from where she sits on the couch. "What are you doing here, shithead? Who let you in?"

"Oh!" Hanji smiles widely. Levi winces at it. She straightens up and puffs out her chest, whipping around to face everyone in the room. "Hanji Zoe, host of this year's _Dancing With The Stars,_ at your service."

A few cast members whoop and clap. To them, Hanji is just another people person, a talkative, personable, likeable loud mouth. She is to Petra, actually. She can see right away that Hanji Zoe is perfectly suited to the job.

Levi curses under his breath. "You've got to be fucking kidding me." He sighs, dropping his head to his hands.

"Moblit here is my co-host!" Hanji exclaims. Moblit raises his nervous head and nods.

"Congratulations!" Petra says cheerfully, much to Levi's ire.

"Don't encourage her, idiot." He hisses. Petra smirks. Before she can consider asking Hanji to demonstrate her spiel for tonight's show to piss him off, a crackly voice explodes over the tinny loudspeaker, sharp and demanding - Lexa. "All cast report to the main stage _now_, please."

Lexa manages to make a 'please' sound like a threat. God, a solid scolding from Lexa is not how she wants to start the important day, so she drags Levi with her to the main studio to make sure he actually follows. She's far more afraid of Lexa's wrath than any snarling comment he throws at her.

* * *

After a draining rehearsal (that was only meant to be a quick run-through but Lexa found so many mistakes she pretty much retaught them) the managers bundle the cast into the makeup and costume room. This time, it's a much larger room that accommodates the entire cast. Minnie's tucked Petra away in a corner, away from where the cameras film Sasha Blouse and Connie Springer squabbling for the 'behind the scenes' segment.

"Are you nervous?" Minnie taps the excess powder off the end of her brush, dabbing it delicately onto Petra's skin. "The first night is always the busiest. I think the live show tickets sold out."

"No pressure then!"

No pressure, indeed. It's not like the studio seats over three hundred people. It's not like it will air live to an estimated million (at _least_) viewers. It's not like all her friends and family and potential employers and-

"You need to calm down." Levi says, where Rick, Minnie's partner, helps him into his costume. He slaps Rick's hands away in annoyance, snarling that 'he can dress himself because he's not a damn baby.'

"I am calm."

"_Right_."

She scowls at him, but she's secretly elated at his cool demeanor. At least one of them is calm. He'll do fine. They'll be fine.

During the first week, everyone is safe. The judges simply want to see them dance. They'll score them as they see fit, which might influence their public votes for next week; where a pair _is_ eliminated.

She's determined it won't be them.

Yesterday, Levi and Petra were allocated an hour to practice on the studio stage, blocking out the movements and changing anything up to accommodate for the space. She'd drilled into him the absolute importance that he wasn't late to this. _God forbid_ he was late or she would castrate him.

Damn. She's spending way too much time with him.

Their routine is flawless. They've spent too much time for it not to be. Every move is practiced to perfection. The dress rehearsal was smooth. She's even adjusted to the stupid bandages.

Even so. She glances over at Levi.

The choreography she's spent the whole week working on is...lackluster. Unremarkable. Boring.

Levi's reluctance in the first few days was short-lived, but lethal. The amount of time they had overall...yeah. It majorly chipped a big portion of Petra's ability. It took so much in her to even get him to one simple box step. By the time he began putting effort in, there was no time to choreograph a new one. The thought of teaching him complicated lifts was the furthest thing from her mind then; she couldn't even trust that he wouldn't drop her out of spite. They'll dance well, but will it be enough to impress thousands of people? Will the sharpness of their feet be enough to distract everyone from the fact that ten year olds can replicate the routine perfectly?

"Oi." Levi's drawl cuts into her thoughts, jolting her out of her headspace. He's standing near her chair now, flicking invisible pieces of lint off his crisp shirt. The chaos of the dressing room doesn't deter him in any way - Eren and Jean have started arguing back and forth, Eren's famous temper getting the better of him, while the camera crew flock like birds to get it all on tape. "Stop worrying."

"I'm not-"

"Yes you are. You have that knot in your eyebrows." He rolls up the cuffs of his shirt, looking at her through the reflection of the mirror. "You know, the one you've had all week. It makes you look real old."

She scowls. "Shut up."

The working relationship they've developed is tentative and new, but she relishes every moment of it. Levi is far, _far_ different from many of the people she's danced with. She clicked with them right away, gotten on like a house on fire with them.

She hasn't exactly 'clicked' with Levi yet, but she's getting there. And when they do, they'll be unstoppable.

The door bursts open and one of the stage managers appears, gripping a clipboard with a headset clamped around her ears. Disrupting whatever peace has settled over the cast, she whispers into her headset then shouts, "All cast to side stage right now! Opening sequence is starting in ten minutes. We need you to stand by."

Petra jolts. It's almost six? Already? She whirls around to look at the television screen in the corner of the room, displaying a live feed of the studio. Most of the seats are already filled, and more audience members file through the door.

Anka shoves her gently in the back to get her moving and there's no time to worry or stress because they're back stage all too soon. They can hear the shuffle and excited chatter of the audience and the stagehands yelling back and forth. It's all too familiar to that fateful competition that was broadcasted to the entire dance world, and she can't stop the tremble that takes over her body.

A hand suddenly falls upon her bare shoulder and she flinches. The hand belongs to Levi, despite his reluctance to touch her all week. "Petra. You'll be fine."

"_We'll_ be fine." Petra corrects automatically. Levi's lip quirks and she knows she's not the only one remembering the first disastrous time they met.

The lights suddenly dim. Stagehands cue the live band, and the peppy opening music starts up. And then Mina and Marlowe take the stage, followed by Historia and Ymir, then Anka and Pixis, and then it's them.

Levi takes her hand, wraps the other around her waist, just as they've rehearsed, and they take the floor.

Petra's not used to television shows, but the live show for the audience is still a show. If she tries hard enough, she can pretend it's another recital, musical, competition. She's used to that. Her nerves diminish slightly.

The choreography devised by Lexa is dynamic, big and eye-catching. They follow along in unison with the other pairs. The blood thrums in Petra's ears as the small duet moments draw nearer.

Hitch and Armin are first, spinning and twirling and the focus is entirely on Hitch, undoubtedly her choreography. Each duet moment is only three counts of eight long. Historia and Ymir's pass all too quickly and then they're moving into the centre of the floor. The second the audience catches sight of the familiar bandages, the iconic mark of No-Name, they cheer so loudly Petra can't hear the blood pounding in her ears. Levi spins her around in time with the music, a cool breeze whizzing through her hair, and her feet move automatically. Quick, complicated moves, forward and backward and around Levi's fast steps, then he grasps her hand and she falls backward, arching her back, tilting her head, and the only thing keeping her on her feet is his arm. For another beat, they hold that pose, then they're moving out and Anka and Pixis take their place.

The moment she's been dreading and longing for all week. It's all over in less than thirty seconds. They bridge the edges of the stage with the others, prepared for the final group choreography. Eren and Mikasa finish with a dazzling spin, awing the crowd, and they're all back in the centre again. The giant opening number is all over in less than a few minutes and Petra would almost think it hadn't happened if it weren't for her heaving chest, the sweat dripping down her back, or Levi's arm around her waist.

"Wooooo!" Hanji exclaims into her mic, almost shouting to be heard over the roar of the crowd. "Wasn't that one of the best openings you've ever seen, people?"

The audience scream in reply. Petra keeps her bright stage smile on as the stage managers motion off-camera for them to get off stage quick. One by one, the stage managers usher the five couples that will dance tonight backstage; Petra and Levi, Mina and Marlowe, Pixis and Anka, Jean and Sasha and Eren and Mikasa. The other half will sit on a special stage with the audience and watch the show. They'll dance tomorrow.

The others fan out onto the small stage, roped off from the audience, radiant and beautiful in their costumes. It's all for appearances, just for the audience to get a sneak-peek at what their routines will look like tomorrow. Everything is for the show. They give encouraging smiles and pats and words to them as they leave. Carley catches Petra's eye and smirks. The knot in her stomach tightens.

Thankfully, the camera crew swarm around those in view to the audience to capture their reactions. Petra breathes out when they're gone, like someone's untied a gag around her mouth. Eren grins at her relief. "Haven't gotten used to all the cameras around you all the time?"

"Talk to me in a few weeks and I'll have adjusted." Petra grins. She glances over at the celebrities. "It must be normal to you guys."

"Nah. That would mean I'd actually be successful." Mina quips, and they all laugh. Even Levi hides a small smirk.

Mina keeps them entertained, running them through one of her new stand-up routines. On the live-feed, Hanji and Moblit, clad in fine matching black suits and Hanji with her bandages, entertain the audience, both in the studio and watching from their televisions; the audience love their quickfire jokes and cool chemistry. They introduce the judges, explain the layout of how the next few weeks is going to work, and take cracks at the celebrities in the vicinity. Hanji's excited, loud exterior is so different to Moblit, a flighty man who watches her like she's going to break something any second, but he's good with the audience and keeps them soothed and satisfied while Hanji riles up their excitement.

The judges cut in occasionally with their comments, Marie's elegant words a sharp comparison to Shadis' aggressive demeanor. Zackly quells them both with just a look. Petra can feel the intimidating man's power even through the screen.

"Now it's time for the first competitors of the season," Hanji grins widely at the camera. "If you haven't heard of this lovely lady, you've definitely tried one of her recipes before. I know I have; along with a few cans of beer or a full glass of wine. Can she set fire to the dance floor like she's set fire to her kitchen - twice? It's Sasha Blouse and Jean Kirstein!"

A stagehand collects the pair in question, hurrying them along to the backstage. The tech crew maneuver the edited rehearsal segment to play at that moment.

Starting with off with their first meeting, it skips straight into their first rehearsal. Petra's slightly amazed at the skill of the editors, who have crafted it so well that it really looks like there was no time between them.

They get along well together, although Jean gets quite frustrated at Sasha's habit of constantly eating while they rehearse. Their clip is more so Jean wrestling whatever snack she has out of her hands than actually dancing.

It cuts back to the studio stage, engulfed in darkness. A spotlight shines on a lone figure standing on the dais steps, a ghostly silhouette against the black backdrop. Then their music starts up. Petra recognises it instantly; _Dear Future Husband_ by Meghan Trainor. A smile quirks her lips. This music _definitely _wasn't Jean's choice. In fact, if she squints, she can see the slight grimace of pain on his face.

"Jive." She says quietly, for Levi's benefit. He probably doesn't give a shit about what type of dance it is.

Sure enough, he rolls his eyes. "Don't know how you can tell the difference between these."

"Years of practice."

Eren shushes them, even though the only thing they'd be speaking over is the music. He stares intently at Jean's moves, itching for a mess-up so he can mercilessly tease him later. Their routine is good; solid, for a week's worth of work. Sasha is a surprisingly good partner, although her posture could improve and she could distinguish her foot movements from one another. But she's just nitpicking.

For the first week, they do amazing.

Hanji whoops and cheers when they finish, enthusiasm bubbling from every fiber of her being. She turns to the judges for their feedback and comments.

The judges. They've possibly assembled the most terrifying panel of people they could've gotten. Keith Shadis: he was a _beast_ on the dance floor. Absolutely incredible. In his prime, he was renowned in the dance world. After he retired from professional dancing, he took to directing and managing.

When Petra was young, her mother had taken her to sit on one of his rehearsals with his dancers. Invite-only event, Petra was one of the youngest there. Mom had argued firmly with the event planners to admit her, and when he begrudgingly allowed entry, he warned that it was not for children.

He was entirely right. Shadis cursed, yelled and intimidated his dancers so much one had burst into tears. If one dancer had even a toe out of line, the entire routine stopped and he called them out _hard._ The end routine was polished, clean and dynamic, but Petra had never shaken off his cold eyes. Indeed, he does not even smile at the sweaty pair in front of him.

Marie Bonner is far more forgiving and welcoming, flashing a brilliant smile at them and the camera. Like Shadis, Mrs Marie Bonner was renowned in the dance world. As elegant and delicate as if she was tip-toeing on glass, her grace was unparalleled. Not just ballroom; in her prime, she took on contemporary, ballet, jazz, lyrical, tap, and those were just to name a _few._ When she got married, she stopped dancing to raise a family. The thrill of judging must've lured her back.

When the camera pans to her, Levi curses. Petra glances at him and he waves her curious stare off. "S'nothing."

Well, she doesn't want to miss the show, so she leaves it at that.

And then. Of course.

Darius Zackly.

How is Jean not trembling in his shoes right now? _The_ Darius Zackly. Right there. In the flesh. _Judging_ his dancing.

At seventeen, Darius Zackly dropped out of school and pursued a career. His dancing was amazing, yes, but it was his initiative that took him far. Mom had always told her that good opportunities had come for many dancers, but he made his own. Impeccable on the dance floor, driven in his goals, and hard enough to handle anything. Nothing phased him. One time, he slipped on the floor, dropping his partner in the middle of a complicated lift, and both she and him went crashing to the floor. He sprained his ankle, but no one knew of it until _after_ the performance. Something like that shouldn't be possible, but it was for Zackly. In his fifties now, he ran his own dance company, for all styles, considered one of the most elite in the world. To be granted admission was a dream far out of young Petra's reach.

Marie has nothing to say but praise, particularly Sasha's tingling energy. Shadis is far more brutal, scrutinising Jeans choreography and Sasha's posture, even picking on their costume choice. They bare through it all...and then it's Zackly's turn.

"A good effort. Adequate. For week one."

How he manages to squash their routine in just a few simple words, that are _gentle _compared to Shadis, is beyond Petra. It's only something Zackly could do. Her stomach churns at the thought of dancing for them.

Hanji, ever the enthusiast, picks up the dreary atmosphere as the audience boo and clap at different comments and turns it back into what they've all come to see.

"Such harsh comments!" She mock-pouts, throwing an arm around Sasha and Jean and leading them away from the vicinity of the judges, across the floor to where Moblit is, the rest of the cast seated behind him. She almost chokes Jean in an attempt to bring the mic back around to her mouth. "Well, who cares what those stuffy judges think?"

"The entire dance world." Jean grumbles under his breath. Sasha jumps in immediately. Behind her back, Connie reaches over and passes her a piece of bread, which she pops in her mouth quickly, spraying crumbs everywhere. The audience howls with laughter, especially when Ymir kicks him off his chair when he leans over. "We tried our best, and that's what matters!" She grins. The audience stomp their feet and roar for her. Hanji laughs.

"You certainly did! I'll definitely be looking forward to seeing what else you two come up with. Well, look like the judges scores are in! Let's hope their scores reflect all the hard work you two have put in - and hopefully removed the stick up their a-"

"First score from Judge Shadis!" Moblit interrupts quickly. Shadis, as cold and stern as ever, holds up a six.

Marie, a seven.

Zackly takes his time. Finally, he raises a seven.

"And that's a solid starting score of twenty out of thirty for team Sasha!" Hanji exclaims. "Remember, this week no one goes home but your votes count towards next week! So no matter how good their score is, the power is in your hands! Vote online or by text to the number below. It's too long for me to remember." Cackling, she elbows Moblit in the ribs, and he takes over. The peppy theme song plays in the background, picks up in volume. "Now for a short commercial break, and then we're onto our favourite footballer and resident alcoholic! Stay tuned for Pixis and Anka!"

It cuts away to a commercial for one of the shows sponsors. Anka and Pixis are hurried to side stage. Petra hugs Anka good luck, while Pixis swigs from a flask concealed somewhere in his costume.

Well. They all have their own ways of comfort.

Then it'll be Mina and Marlowe. Eren and Mikasa. And then them. The knot in her stomach coils tighter and tighter until it is impossible to breathe, and Levi does not help matters.

"That old dude is a hardass." He mutters. Unlike her, he is the picture of calm, as relaxed as if he is on a picnic. Petra murmurs in agreement.

Anka and Pixis' routine passes far too quickly. As Anka said, he really is a better dancer than he looks, and they pull a score two points higher than Sasha and Jean. Not surprising. Their rumba stuns the crowd. Even Shadis looked impressed for a moment.

Hanji and Moblit banter, then commercials, and then Mina and Marlowe are gone. Levi clamps down on his smart comments. She's secretly thankful.

Mina and Marlowe are good, but unlike Pixis and Sasha, Mina lacks the natural skill and grace. She takes the harsh criticism in good humour, as she always does, but even Shadis manages to pierce a few comments too hard and she cracks for a moment. Petra's heart breaks for her. They pull an overall score of eighteen.

Hanji and Moblit. Commercial. Eren and Mikasa bid goodbye.

Then there were two.

Petra lowers herself onto one of the chairs. Her legs tremble. Her nerves haven't been this bad since she was nine.

_Unprofessional_, she sneers at herself. _Weak. _

"Hey." Levi nudges her slightly with the toe of his shoe. "Uh. You alright?"

She nods. He heaves another sigh.

"Liar." Pulling up another chair, he sits besides her and doesn't say anything else. She didn't expect him too, awkward as he was. His mere presence beside her is soothing enough.

Eren and Mikasa are incredible. For someone who's never done ballroom dancing before, Mikasa is _gifted. _Her quick learning ability and fast reflexes, combined with Eren's inventive choreography, blow everyone away. Marie gushes praise. Shadis begrudgingly nods. Zackly has the briefest glimmer of a smile on his face.

"Twenty three." Petra breathes. She barely has time to process that information when there's a sharp knock on the door, a stagehand calling out for them.

In and out. Rising, she wills her body not to tremble. The bandages hang limply in her hand. Half of her wishes the agonising walk along the hallway was longer, as long as the Great Wall of China, and the other half wishes it was only two steps so it could be over with. They can hear the audience rustle and whisper and chat as the commercials play, louder as the stage hand lets them slip behind the curtain.

"Here." The bandages are lifted from her hands. Levi steps behind her and she feels the familiar fabric wrap around her eyes.

"I can do it myself." She says, but she lets him tie the knot anyway.

"Yeah." He agrees, and she knows he also sees her hands shaking.

Brushing her hair out from under the bandages, she breathes. In and out. In and out, even as she hears Will call out that they're ready to begin filming again. In and out, even as Hanji and Moblit begin their electric intro. In and out as they're introduced. A whole troupe of girls scream at this. She falters slightly for a moment as she hears their segment play, but it's with laughter because Levi sounds so _dead_. She wishes she could see it from here.

In and out one last time. Then they take the floor, moving to find their spots in complete darkness, at opposite ends of the stage. Her heels click loudly against the harlequin floor, louder than anything else. Except, of course, for the music, the lilting opening chords of the song she's become so familiar with this past week.

It begins. Her heart quiets in her chest. So does the harsh voice. Everything flees from her mind except the dance at hand and for the first time this week, she knows peace.

Slow, steady, safe, before the guitar and bass strike up. Her feet are clean and sharp and she knows that Levi is the same. Just like rehearsal. His arm around her back, the other holding her hand. She's not sure if notices that her hand in his tightens unconsciously when they waltz past the panel. Back and forth on the floor, up and down. Stop. She dances her foot in between his, an intricate move from her competition days. The rumble of the bass chords creep up, and she takes a deep breath. This is the trickiest part. Quick, as quick as it can get with a waltz. Takes his hand off her back, holds her free hand, and she extends her leg out like a bird. The audience hum in appreciation, clap, there's a cheer that sounds especially like Nanaba, and it's all submerged in water compared to the music roaring in her ears.

Twirl. Spin. Away, and then fall. Trusts him enough to catch her. He does.

The music fades away, replaced by the cheer. The overwhelming cheers and claps as Levi helps her back up onto her feet, still there when Hanji beckons them over. It's over. Less than three minutes and it's over.

She can't remember a time where three minutes have been so _thrilling_.

"Wow wow _wow_!" Hanji yelps, descending on the two. "Have you ever seen anything so _powerful_?" She asks the audience, whipping around to stare at every section, urging them to agree. "So gentle! My God, you two took the waltz and smashed it!" Hanji pauses dramatically. Like the rest of them, she's performing a show. "So Levi, how did you find dancing? Different from your guitar?" This elicits a chuckle around them. There's a wicked, mischievous light in her eyes when she realises he won't answer. "Usually finger your guitar but-"

_He's gonna punch her_, Petra realises with a jolt when he tenses up besides her. Regardless of whether they're on camera or not.

Petra laughs, edging closer to Hanji so she can subtly move the mic down, so whatever inappropriate comment she's going to make won't get broadcast to the three hundred people around them. Behind the camera, she sees Will motion for Hanji to wrap it up quickly so they can move on. Thankfully, Hanji gets the hint.

"Now let's bring it over to our amazing judges to see what they thought! Marie?"

Marie Bonner, radiant in a form-fitting blue dress, grins. "My my! That was one stunning waltz!" She pauses as the audience cheer their approval. "If I didn't know any better I wouldn't know who was the professional! The bandages are so mysterious! That was everything I would expect from a week one waltz. Next week, I think it would be good to see you extend a bit more, Levi, in your feet and legs and arms."

Good. Good feedback so far. Shadis is next. Petra can't quite make out the exact expression on his face because of the bandages. Thank god.

"Posture in some parts were sloppy." Shadis grunts. "Shameful. I wasn't sure whether you were dancing or stomping. Facials were terrible."

He stops. Petra blinks, expecting more. Is that it? Compared to the verbal beating the others got, it's almost gentle.

"Oh, Shadis, you're just a grump!" Hanji laughs. Shadis glares at her firecely but Hanji takes no notice. "And now our head judge. Zackly, what did you think?"

He takes a sip from his water. It's quiet, so quiet that no one seems to draw breath. Her heart hammers in her chest. The adrenaline from earlier begins to wear off.

"Good song choice." Is she imagining the glint in his eye? "Your skill with music translates to the dance floor surprisingly well."

Majority of the comments are directed to Levi. But this time, this last comment, he's looking Petra right in the eye.

"The choreography let me down. I was falling asleep halfway through. I was expecting more. Next time, utilise Levi's skill. It would do you well and you might distract from what had to be the dullest waltzes I've ever seen." He shuffles his papers. That's it. Over.

The words pierce her like an arrow to the heart, one after the other until she can't breathe. Tears prick at her eyes but she hides her hands behind her back and curls her fingers into her palm so tightly it distracts for a moment. Nod and smile. Nod and smile.

Hanji boos. "So harsh!" She shakes her head. Petra detects sympathy in her tone as she leads them over to where the others are. "Not to worry, you two, they're just old and cranky. It's their bedtime. They need their nurses to tuck them in and give them their medicine."

Moblit appears at her shoulder, joining in on her banter. The audience laugh along with them. Petra barely hears it.

Zackly barely uttered more than a sentence for the others. Was their routine really that awful? Was her choreography really that boring that he was _falling asleep during it_?

That was her biggest fear. And it came true, right in front of her friends and family and millions of viewers and Levi. Humiliation sears through her blood and she wants to hang her head in shame. She doesn't even register it when Hanji is shoving a mic into her face. Stunned, Petra can't think of anything. What was the question?

Levi sighs, almost inaudibly besides her, taking the mic from Hanji and answers the question himself - they struggled at first but got there in the end, something like that - and then Hanji is pointing back over to the judges. "The scores are in!"

Marie gives a seven.

Shadis - a six.

Zackly take his time...and raises a five.

Eighteen. Tied with Mina and Marlowe for bottom two.

The cameras zoom in on them for their reaction. Petra smiles her stage smile but it's tight-lipped. Levi looks as pissed off as usual. Moblit announces a recap of the dances tonight, then the scoreboard, as they join the other dancers. Eren reaches over and pats her shoulder comfortingly.

Carley crosses her leg and looks smug.

The theme music spills into the air. Hanji and Moblit stand shoulder to shoulder, preparing to close the show. A camera pans over the cast one last time and Petra manages to wave weakly. Then Will is shouting cut, the stagehands sigh in relief, and it's over.

Over. Over in the worst possible way.

"Oi." Levi says next to her ear. "Earth to Petra. Petra."

"Petra!" Someone yells, shoving through the throngs of people filing out. Nanaba's shaggy head emerges, Nifa and Rico in tow, and she throws her arms around Petra, still glued to her chair. Levi disappears from her side, leaving her in better hands; she sees him meet up with Hanji, Erwin and Mike. Slowly, she comes back to earth; the lights are still obnoxiously bright. The excited chatter of the audience members, gushing over their favourite dancers. The friends and family of the other cast members embracing each other. The crushing blow of being torn apart on live television.

"You danced amazingly!" Nifa squeals, throwing herself into the hug. Rico stands at the edge and pats Petra's shoulder. Her eyes are soft behind her stern glasses. Petra has to fight to hold herself together.

Tactfully, none of them mention Zackly's crushing blow, not even Rico. Eventually, her father manages to fight through and join them. His eyes shine with proud, unshed tears. She throws herself into his arms and hugs him tightly, knowing both their minds are on her mother.

Erd, Gunther and Auruo couldn't attend tonight because each of them are in different parts of the world. It stung at first, but now she's glad for their absence so they couldn't see her fail. She reminded them to watch the episode online. She hopes they forget.

Suffer the fall then. She's suffering it now.

For her father's sake, she smiles and grins and laughs happily; they'll celebrate when they get home, and she won't ruin it for him. Her friends, her amazing friends, somehow manage to cheer her up, even if it's not by much. Nanaba presses Petra to invite her over to No-Name, staring at Mike the entire time in such an exaggerated fashion it makes her laugh.

Many of the friends and family want to stay behind to take photos in front of the giant logo, (Nifa's one of them, dragging them all over and Petra has to force Rico to smile) until the crew start herding people out impatiently. Petra promises to meet them in the parking lot.

The cast recroup for a final talk from Lexa and a few of the managers, congratulating them on their hard work and reminding them of their call time tomorrow. She shoos them off, telling (threatening) them to get a lot of sleep. Petra trails back to the dressing room behind the others to grab her stuff. Levi falls into step beside her. She hasn't really had a chance to talk to him about the score and feedback.

"Are you ready for rehearsal on Sunday?" Petra asks him. She doesn't look him in the eye. If she does, shame will join the embarrassment because she's humiliated both of them.

"Yeah. Eight o'clock."

"Seven."

She knows he knows, because she reminded him this afternoon, but his poor attempt at a joke brings a hint of a smile to her face anyway.

She grabs her purse, slinging it over her shoulder. The rest of the cast joke around, laughing about their favourite moments: Sasha and Jean's lift has a special place in everyone's hearts, as well as Levi and Hanji's banter. Hanji has him holed up in a corner, taunting him about who knows what. The jaunty atmosphere puts her at ease and she forces herself to think of positive things.

It works. It works wonderfully until Carley Strattman comes strutting over.

"Petra! Oh _dear_, dear Petra." She clicks her tongue in mock sympathy. Petra wants to punch her. "Who _could've_ seen this coming? I mean, it's not like you had a long running failure streak during your career. Oh, wait!"

Petra glares up at the taller woman. She just reaches her nose, but she makes sure her icy glare makes up for her lack of height. "Fuck off." Petra snarls.

It only encourages Carley more. "You weren't so confident on stage earlier, were you? The only pair to make Zackly say more than five words! Take that achievement. It's the only one you'll get."

"When you get eliminated next week-"

"Ah, but at this rate, it's _you _who's going home." Carley smiles - not a stage smile, not a sweet smile, but the smug, satisfied smile of a complete _bitch. _"You'll be the first one eliminated. Take that title with you because it's the last one you're ever going to get."

Before Petra can get the last word, she turns on her heel and walks away. Petra's hands clench.

"What a bitch." Levi says, wandering over to her, apparently having heard the end of the conversation. He makes sure to shove Hanji at the right time so she goes barrelling into Carley on her way out. Petra doesn't take much delight in this, though. There's only one thing on her mind.

"I'm not going to be known on television for my poor choreography." She growls. "Next week, we're going to kill it. We're going to be doing a dance that absolutely _destroys_ her. She'll be the first one going home. I'll make sure of it."


End file.
